because love is too mainstream
by Hana Okita
Summary: Perhaps to others, it was corny, but to them, it was something else, something special, something that others could not experience; — • • len ო miku ::drabble series dedicated to R.J. Niner::
1. scars

one: scars and tears

A/N: Once I told my sister 'I will make a one shot series one day and make them all SAD!' and thus this was born. I know it's too early for this but, every twentieth reviewer gets to submit a prompt! The chapter count for this is currently a hundred, but I've planned out like ninety angst-y drabbles and written five in my notebook, so maybe it'll be a little over a hundred, I still don't know. :) (my guilty pleasures of writing sad stuff omg sorry)

* * *

_._

_For a moment, it was only them, covered in scars and ghosts of the past._

_._

* * *

She cried.

She cried, cried so bitterly, cried for the deaths of all her family and friends, her heart shattered to a point that she cannot even pick up the pieces and shape them together. Everyday she would stand, alone, and then she would just break down, just like the porcelain doll she is.

Then one day, it all changed. _He _came.

That chilling night, he came to her, jacket in hand as she shivered whilst sobbing.

_You're cold, _he tells her, wrapping her up lightly in his jacket. _You'll catch a cold. Don't do this to yourself._

For a while she just stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Then she continued crying, this time with a rant. _They're all gone, they're all dead, it's my fault, I come back, I have ghosts, I see them, I can't touch them, they're all out of my reach, you know?_

_I know, _he tells her, voice bitter. _I know, Miku, I know. They haunt me. Everyday. _

_They do? _She chokes out, surprised. He nodded, hands clenched tightly at his sides.

For a moment, it was only them, a boy and a girl, covered in scars and ghosts of the past, broken both outside and inside, then their eyes met, and they understood.

* * *

_Hey, are you always alone like this? _He asks her one day as they share a conversation over a cup of coffee. She stares wistfully at the fog-covered windows, her lips pressed tightly together.

After what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence, she replies in the softest voice he'd ever heard her use, _Yes._

_Why? Doesn't anyone ... befriend you? _He asks, leaning forwards as his hands cup his mug. She shakes her head mutely, a wall building behind her eyes. _But ... you're so pretty, and you're fun to talk with, why not?_

She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning back into the chair. They lapsed into silence for a while, listening to the hearty chatter around them in the coffeehouse. _I don't know, _she tells him. _Come to think of it, who'd love me?_

_Me, _he almost said, but bit it in at the last moment. _Someone will eventually, _he murmured, draining his mug.

She exhales sadly, then stare into the pool of coffee in her own cup. _I can only hope, _was all she said.

After that, he said nothing, and neither did she.

* * *

_It's your birthday today, right? _He asks her as they sit down in their usual seat, ordering their usual choices of coffees. She looks up at him, surprised.

_How did you know? _She asks, sounding a little happy, as if no one ever remembered her birthday.

_I'm your friend, _he tells her with a kind smile, _of course I should know. You deserve a present for being strong, _he continues, and pulls out a box from his pocket.

She looks pleasantly surprised, her lips almost curling up into a gentle smile as she eyes the box curiously. He hands it to her and she takes it gingerly, peering carefully at the box.

_What ... what ... _she whispers, turning the box around.

_Open it, _he says, not an order, but a request. She blinks once, twice, then obliges.

_Wow, Len, it's ... _she pulls out a necklace, _beautiful ..._

_Like you, _he mutters under his breath, but she didn't hear it as she admired the necklace. _You like it? _He asks instead.

She looks up at him, her eyes twinkling prettily. _Of course, _she says in an awestruck sort of voice. _Thank you._

He blinks, and she was smiling.

Her smile was beautiful.

* * *

_I'm moving out, _she tells him one day, twiddling her thumbs. _I want to move to somewhere closer ... closer to them. _

He sighs. _You still have yet to let go of them, right?_

She shakes her head, guilty. _I'm sorry._

_It's not your fault, _he says in a quiet voice. _If I were in your shoes, I would be in a worse state than you, I suppose ..._

She manages to smile, but she looks so weary and ill he felt so sorry for her. _I'm moving out, _she repeats.

_I love you, _he tells her, voice broken. She smiles again.

_I know, _is all she said, and when he takes her in his embrace, she breaks down.

* * *

_I have scars, _she tells him one day as she pulls up her sleeve to reveal a whole arm of scars, mixing together like an art piece. _In my heart and on my body._

_I have them, too, _he tells her. _I guess that's what we have in common._

She smiles bitterly as she places a folded shirt into her luggage. _I'm moving out tomorrow, _she informs him as she continues to pile up clothes in her bag, not looking at him.

_Oh, _is all he can think of to say. _Uh, that's good._

_You changed me, _she said, sounding as though she was going to cry. _You made me believe in hope.__  
_

_That's good, _he says again, stiff.

_I love you, _she tells him. _Don't forget that. Don't forget me._

_I know, _he mutters, looking down. _I won't._

She smiles and mimics him: _that's good._

* * *

The next day, she held her luggage bag and looked at him, not saying anything. The wind blew in their hairs.

_So, _she says, voice quiet, _I'm going._

_Okay, _he murmurs. _Bye._

_Bye, _she whispered, then she begins to walk away. He stared after her as if in a trance, not able to do anything at all, until he surged forward, strong hands gripping her shoulders, and his lips found hers.

_I love you, _he tells her, running a hand through her beautiful locks. _I love you.__  
_

_I know, _she chokes out, a hand covering her mouth.

Then she cried.

But she was smiling.

_Thank you._

* * *

She left.

He lay on his bed, staring at the celling, eyes dull. Her voice, her sad smiles, her murmurs of thank you, her lips, her hair, everything about her lingers in his mind, and he realises that he misses her, he can't let go of her, just like she can't let go of her family.

He stood up, went to his table and dug out a sheet of paper and an old pen. Then, on the paper, he scribbled down:

_To Hatsune Miku:_

_I love you._

_From Kagamine Len._

He smiles.


	2. cycle

two: cycle

A/N: have some romance thingie and a little doze of supernatural though I'm very bad at it haha and oh the ending's crappy

other notes: anyone wants me to make chapter one a multi-chaptered story or something? anyone at all lol?

* * *

_._

_"You can't."_

.

* * *

His heart is black, he likes to think.

Over and over again he had to watch, watch her die, watch her heart stop and her breathing still and everything just goes into slow motion as she disappears, vanishing into nothing but a cold corpse, a frozen smile on her lips. And she always dies first, forcing him to watch, watch with so much agony. And it all happened just because she found him, fell in love with him, and he decided that he would take another chance, hoping that perhaps this time, she wouldn't _die_ all of a sudden.

So this time, he told himself firmly that he would put a stop to this, to the stupid cycle with her dying first. He will not find her, and he will make sure that she will not find him, too.

And they'll be free of these binds.

* * *

They meet this time because she splashed coffee all over him. He almost doesn't recognise her, with her blaring crimson eyes and flowing aquamarine hair like the water, and she's too busy apologising and attempting to wipe the coffee off his clothes to notice him staring.

"No, don't bother it," he told her, pushing her away lightly. Her eyes snap up curiously at the touch and she crossed her arms, smiling a little bit.

"Why not?" She asked, raising up a wet tissue and continuing to dry his dripping shirt.

"Because," he said, pushing her away again, "I am fine. I'll just go home and -"

"But it's freezing out there," she pointed out, tilting her head towards the window. "You'll catch a cold."

"Why should you bother?" He asked, sounding ruder than he meant. "I'm fine, really, I -"

"I bother, because I care," she said quietly, closing her eyes calmly. "That's why you should -"

"Just go away, okay?" He snapped, finally, but as she looked up at him she was still smiling.

"As you wish," she said graciously, stepping aside for him to exit. He sends her a look, before sweeping away from her furiously.

"The name's Miku," he vaguely heard her say, her voice clear and loud, "just for you to know."

But when he looked back, she was gone.

* * *

He saw her again, this time sitting quietly on a swing in the abandoned park and looking as though lost in thought. She looked up at him and smiled serenely, raising her hand and waving lightly at him.

"Hello," she said in a loud voice that carried around the empty park, "it's nice to see you again, isn't it?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing. "What?" He asked, finally, crossing his arms.

"Geez, that was mean," she said, locking her right wrist around the chain weakly. "Just wanted to strike a conversation or too, ya' know."

He sighed. "Sorry."

She smiled up at him. "No problem," she said lightly, kicking up her legs and swinging up, "what's your name?"

"Len," he told her before he could stop himself. "It's Len."

She gave him a grin. "Len," she repeated, his name rolling pleasantly off her tongue. "That's a nice name, indeed."

"Thank you," he said, not knowing what else to say.

She only smiled.

* * *

"You come here a lot," she told him as he came into view. "It's almost as though ... we meet each other everyday. It's not a coincidence anymore."

He scratched the back of his head, looking away from her. There was only silence between them, punctuated by the creaks of the rusty metal chain as she swings herself up.

"Hey, push me?" She piped up, the warm autumn wind blowing through her hair beautifully.

"I don't ..." He muttered, scowling a little bit. "You're not a child, stop playing with that child's plaything." He said finally, leaning against a tree.

She pouted. "As mean as ever." She complained and stood up, making her way over to him. "You have leaves in your hair," she told him.

He subconsciously began picking at his hair, brushing off the leaves. "Oh."

She stopped next to him and leant against the tree, too, humming a gentle lullaby. Her soft voice somehow soothes his heart and he closed his eyes, enjoying the melody.

"Your voice is nice," he said, before he could stop himself. "You should be a singer or something."

She laughed. "Thank you."

He squeezed a smile for her and she smiled at him. "Hey, your smile is really pretty."

He then scowled. "Pretty?"

"Ah - no, like, well, pretty in a ... I dunno, it's just ... pretty." She tapped her chin, finding the correct word. "Well, you see how nature is beautiful, right? We don't say that nature is handsome or anything, we say that it's pretty. Pretty is a nice word, it suits you."

"I'm not nice."

"You are."

"You don't even understand me."

"I just know that you are."

Silence.

"Thank you." He grumbled finally, ruffling up her hair gruffly.

She grinned cheekily at him. "So you _do _admit that you're nice!"

He glared at her, but she doesn't seem fazed as her grin widened. "I'm - not - nice!" He emphasised every syllable, glare hardening with every word.

"Say, am I nice?" She asked.

"Well, a bit," he mumbled. "Just a bit."

"Then you are, too," she told him.

He doesn't argue.

* * *

Although the weather steadily turned cold and the wind bit mercilessly at their cheeks so much that they turned raw, they still met up in their usual park, at the same time, watching the sun set.

"Hey, Len," she called out one day, rubbing her hands to create warmth.

"What?" He responded, hands in his pockets.

"I'm cold."

"And?"

She sniffed. "Can I, like, hug you or something?"

"No."

"That was mean."

"I know."

Silence.

"Hey, Len," she tried again, now pressing her hands against her cheeks.

"What?"

"I ..." She faltered, then looked at the floor. "Never mind."

They are silent.

He suddenly grabbed her shoulders and roughly pulled her in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her waist. "There," he grumbled.

She blinked, surprised, then laughs and snuggles against his chest. "Hey, you _are _warm."

"Gross."

"No, I'm serious."

He looked down at her. "Oh."

She smiled warmly, then said something that came out muffled as she pressed her head against him.

"What was that?"

She flushed red, probably from the cold. "Nothing."

He said nothing, but he knew that it was a lie.

* * *

"Hey, Len ..." she said one day as they watched the yellow and orange leaves fall from the trees, "what's your name? Your full name."

"Kagamine Len," he told her. "And yours?"

She smiled. "Hatsune Miku."

"Nice name." He murmured.

Her smile widened. "Your name sounds like some sort of saga thing," she told him thoughtfully.

He flushed. "Yours sound like some stupid shampoo brand!"

"It does, indeed," she said cheekily.

"I don't know what to do with you," he grumbled, finally, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking away from her.

"That's probably good," she chirped, and he scooped up a handful of leaves and threw it at her.

* * *

"This will be the last time we meet here," he told her one day as the weather turned so cold everyone hid in their warm houses with a mug of hot chocolate. It seemed as though they were the only ones who still stayed outside, wrapped in scarfs and covered in coats.

"Why?" She asked, curiously looking at him.

"Just because," he mumbled, and she says no more, picking at the ends of her scarf.

"Hey, can I tell you something?" She said suddenly, letting go of her scarf.

"Don't," he starts to say, but she took a deep breath and ignored him.

"I love you."

"You can't," he said weakly, biting on his lips. "Sorry. You can't."

She stared at him with a shocked expression, crimson eyes wide. "What ... in the world ..."

"I love you too," he said, ruffling up her hair a little. "But honestly, this doesn't work."

"Why?" She asked, pouting slightly. "Why not?"

"It just ..." he sighed. "I don't want you to die."

She blinked. "... die?"

"Yes, die. Every time we love, you die. For me. I don't want that. So you can't. You can't love me. I can't love you."

He turned, and he was gone.

She doesn't call him back.


	3. where

three: where

* * *

_._

_"Can I hear your voice for one more time?"_

.

* * *

She missed him; that was true.

On his birthday she would first bake his favourite chocolate cake, then sneak up to his bedroom with a party hat on and wake him up, yelling surprise at the top of her lungs. He would laugh and ruffle her hair, before confirming that the cake she had made was chocolate. She would then lead him downstairs and he would have a party hat on by then, while they would ring up their friends and he would try to steal chunks of his cake. But this year, it was only black and sadness, everyone chanting and muttering prayers for him, the boy, her lover, Len, the boy who died as a hero.

She closed her eyes, wishing with all her might that she would find that this was all a dream when she opened them, and he'd be sneering and laughing at her at usual.

But when she opened them, it was not, and so the mantras all continued, blurring into one noise around her.

* * *

She visited his grave everyday of the year, whether it was raining, snowing or a bright sunny day, she would come with her bouquet of tulips - his favourite flower - and just _stand _there, gazing monotonously at his smiling photo on the tomb, and when all of the memories they shared hit her, she would cry.

He used to comfort her every time she sobbed, but then he wasn't there when she cried for him, for his death, for the memories.

"Hey," she whispered one day as she picked up the wilting one-day-old tulips and set down a new bunch of them, "can I hear your voice for one more time?"

He doesn't reply, of course.

(No matter how much she wanted him to, she thought that it would be rather freaky if he did.)

* * *

And, on his birthday, she still bakes the chocolate cake and runs to his room all the same, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Only that he wasn't there anymore.


	4. embrace

four: embrace

side note: I will update this every week as a promise to R.J. Niner, and partly because I need to finish this story quickly to start updating the others, so expect quicker updates from _because love is too mainstream_, I guess!

mini fact: Since loads of authors reveal their birthdays and some people have been asking me for my birthday, I will tell you - it is on **20th November**. When is yours? :3

* * *

_._

_All he does is quietly embrace her._

.

* * *

A pair of teenagers were in a room, digging out things from their bags. A shy tealette was trying to fend off a handsome blond by her side, who was tickling her stomach.

"Stop," she said weakly, flapping her hands at him. He only laughed, poking her ribs more vigorously.

"Len! Miku! Come, quick!" A chirpy voice calls out to the two, making them look up. "We're going to go to the beach without you guys if you don't hurry!"

"Coming!" The gentle-looking girl shouts back to a perky blonde, the owner of the voice. She waved jovially at them, then disappeared behind the door.

The girl sighs, then starts to slip out from her shirt where she had already wore her swimsuit underneath and ignoring as the blond behind her begins to whoop noisily. Before she could whip around and tell him to stop, though, his breath suddenly catches and quick footsteps were heard, then her hand was caught by him, pulling on her wrist harshly and jerking her around.

She blinks as he gazes at her shoulder, and slowly she follows his stare, then her eyes lock on her the spot where he was gawping at. _Oops_, she thought mentally, then hurriedly tried to cover it up with her hair but he extended a hand and pushed the lock of hair easily, lifting his head to look at her eyes.

"No, Len, it's nothing," she starts to say, but the intensity in his eyes make her hesitate, then she gives up and slumps her shoulder, glumly staring at her shoulder too.

He traces a finger around the scar on her shoulder blade, his voice broken as he asks, "when ..."

She closes her eyes. "I don't know," she admits quietly, her thumbs twirling into place. "All I know that it was a long time ago ... long before I met ... you ..."

He looks angry as he inspects her. "I should have found you earlier, you didn't have me back then, who knows what ..."

"But I have you now," she tells him, her hands on his face, her voice a whisper, barely heard.

But he had heard, and all he does is quietly embrace her, sharing his warmth. "Are you still ... still cutting yourself?" He asks her, voice muffled against her sweet-smelling hair.

She presses her lips together, gripping him tightly. "No," she assured him, running a hand through his hair. "No."

"Don't ... don't hurt yourself anymore, okay?" He croaks, voice broken. "Please ..."

She smiles weakly. "I won't."

"Th ... that's ... good ... don't ..." He says, voice heavy with tears.

He didn't finish his sentence as he begins to cry, but she understood.


	5. red

five: red

prompt: 'Yandere!Len' — prompt chosen by _Awesome D.T, _for being the twentieth reviewer.

special genre: fluffy horror, perhaps? Len doesn't seem very yandere to me in here, though ... Just sorta over-protective and willing to do anything to protect Miku ... somehow I find that sweet ... I'm messed up. (this chapter is not sad at all omg)

notes: I just finished this today, when I was a tad bit upset with stuff, and the bad thing about this is that when I'm in a bad-mood I kinda go all sadistic and stuff so the bottom parts (like where Len started to go all creepy idk) are ... I dunno ... very ... violent? Hope you will enjoy this chapter, though! It's long, though ...

* * *

.

_"You didn't fight back. So I did."_

_._

* * *

_Red. Everywhere._

_"You killed them."_

_His eyes blaze an electric blue. "I needed to."_

_"Why?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement._

_A step closer. "They abused you."_

_More red. It seeps nastily into her socks now._

_"But you shouldn't kill them."_

_"They hurt you."_

_A step back. "You can't. You can't just ... just kill someone."_

_A cock of his head. "What, in cold blood?"_

_Another step backwards. "Yes."_

_A step forward. Closer. "But they hurt you."_

_"... but I -"_

_"And you didn't fight back." Another step forward._

_Then another. And another. "So _I _did."_

_And before she knew it, he hovers above her, eyes flaring like blue fire, and he leaned down - then his lips captures hers._

___And she doesn't fight back anymore._

___Red was still around them._

* * *

The school bell rings, signalling break time.

Everyone pours out simultaneously, chattering and holding lunch boxes, bickering over pesky little things.

And she stands out in the crowd, not only because of her bright teal hair and equally gleaming eyes, but because she was alone.

Books held awkwardly in her hands, she trod past the crowds swarming to the cafeteria, and exited to a secluded area, sheltered by several bushes and hidden under the shade of a rather leafy tree. She closes her eyes and _prays _for them not to come again, to finally leave her alone.

Five minutes later, they find her. Once more, she leaves her books, fleeing. Again, they chase her, laughters filled with mirth nagging at her. Once again, they pulled on her arm, and a fist flies up to her chin, in slow motion -

- Until another foreign fist stops them. She looks up and sees endless blue.

And then everything falls apart from there.

* * *

Blue.

"Why are you crying?"

Sniff. "Y-you just - you - kill - them -"

Silence. "... They hit you."

Another heavy sniff, followed by a voice filled with emotion. "I know! But you ... you shouldn't ... just ... I need to ... just _tolerate _them!"

His voice is cold. "You would have died."

Her tears stop abruptly, as wind bustles in, wrapping around them.

He continues. "I don't want you to die."

She looks up. Through her blurry vision, she sees it again.

Blue.

"But _I _want to die," she points out bitterly, a dry smile at her lips.

He walks towards her in two long strides, and in seconds her chin is tilted up by a long, slender finger, then she was looking into those eyes — _his _eyes, the blue eyes — and he leans down, not taking his eyes off hers.

"And _I _don't." He tells her bluntly.

"Why?" She was mesmerised by the cerulean.

"Because -" he leans in further and she takes a whiff of his cherry-scented breath, and her eyes droop against her will - "I love you."

And their shadows overlap under the sunset.

* * *

"I can't do this, let me die, kill me, I want to die," she mutters, quivering hands over her head.

The boy sneers at her, all of his yellow teeth showing as he grins widely. "Oh, you want to die?" He raises a balled-up hand. "Then I'll _let _you die!"

His fists pound at her arms, her face, her eyes - her glasses shattered at that - and as she falls to the ground limply, blood soaking her, he raises a foot above her body. He opens his mouth to say something, and she closes her eyes, knowing that _this is the end, _she was going to _die_, and subconsciously she wrote a kind of will: _Father, Mother, I'm sorry that I left you early, it was because of this person who keeps bullying me with his gang. PS. He looks like a pig. Curse him._

"_Die_." Another voice says, laced with venom and somehow husky in a seductive sort of way. She opens an eye, and a boy, a _new _boy, was holding _him _up, holding the bully up, and forcing him against the wall. "_Die_." He repeats, pressing the bully further up the wall.

The other boys rushes in at that, eyes wide at the sight of their leader being attacked and almost choked to death by a mysterious - and _very _attractive - boy. The boy against the wall gestures weakly with his hands, and, rather reluctantly, the others surges forwards, defending their leader. And the blond boy turns, unfazed, dropped the choking boy and pulled out a knife from his pocket. She extends a bloody hand, trying to break off the fight, but they had already started attacking each other, and her hand slowly drops to the ground.

Within ten minutes, the boy had already defeated - _killed _- all of the boys, all of them lying in disgusting heaps around the floor. She chokes, coughing up blood, and he walks over to her slowly, bending down on one knee and focusing on her with his eyes. She notices that they were a shade of perfect blue, glowing in the darkness, looking just like the sky. He tears off the scarf covering his neck and starts to slowly mop off the dry blood from her mouth and face, movements surprisingly gentle for a boy who had just killed ten teenagers.

"Hey." He says, wiping off the fresh blood trickling from her mouth. "You okay?"

She struggles to stand up, heaving her head off the ground, and stumbling around woozily for a while. When she finally regained her balance - though she still wobbled a little - she leant against the column and stared at him incredulously. "You ... no. I'm not okay. Not -" she coughs violently and the boy looked even more worried, "- okay. At all."

His eyes are concerned for her. She thinks that it's weird, how he can kill people without a thought but become worried over an injured girl. Sure, she was heavily injured and possibly losing her life at that moment, but his _prime _worry should be the dead people! What about them?

The red blood pools around them. Red. Everywhere.

"You killed them." She settles with saying.

His eyes blaze an electric blue and he looks away, some of his hair shading the blue jewels, shielding them from view. "I needed to." He says in a soft voice, his hand gripping so hard on the handle of the knife that his knuckles were turning whiter than they already were.

"Why?" She asks, too broken inside to cry anymore. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. She actually felt _sad _for those dead kids - though a small part of her was really happy that no one could bully her anymore - they were just high-schoolers, after all, she thought.

He took a step closer to her, bowing his head so that his bangs continued covering his eyes. She wondered why; his eyes were really pretty and nice to look at, she would probably stare at them for _hours _if they were not in that situation where he killed people for _her_. She never knew that someone would do that for her. Perhaps there was a catch? Perhaps he needed something from her? "They abused you." He said, voice chillingly frosty.

More red blood around them from the corpses. It seeps nastily into her socks now and she shivers slightly, wanting to step away but not having the ability to - she would probably just fall over again. So she leans against the column and lets the red stain her feet.

"But you shouldn't kill them." She reasons, clapping her hands together in a sort of prayer, trying to snap the boy back to his senses.

"They hurt you." He growls poisonously, voice now burning with anger and hate, and she shuddered although she obviously knew that it wasn't directed at her. He looked up and she gasped. The blue eyes were now a glaring cobalt, smouldering like blue pyre.

She took a step back nervously, stumbling a little at the loss of something to lean at and nearly falling over. He didn't take notice of that the second time, she notices. "You can't. You can't just ... just kill someone." She stammered.

He gave a cock of his head. "What, in cold blood?" He said, sounding slightly amused and sarcastic, a slight grin poking at his lips - but he held it in, she could tell. Her actions were probably amusing him.

She takes another step backwards and crashes into another column, tainting the white paint with her vermillion blood. "Yes." She agrees, bobbing her head weakly.

He took a step forward. Closer to her. "But they hurt you." He whispers silently, voice echoing strangely around them.

"... but I -"

"And you didn't fight back." He took another step forward. Still looking at her with those intense eyes.

Then another. And another. "So I did."

And before she knew it, he hovers above her, eyes flaring like blue fire, and he leaned down - then his lips captures hers, tasting strangely sweet. And _oh, _amazing. She doesn't even realise the awkwardness and _wrong_ness of the situation anymore.

And she doesn't fight back anymore, choosing to slump against him, and his warmth.

Red was still around them.

* * *

He smells nice, she thought, nuzzling further into his neck. Just like cherry and peppermint. An interesting combination, but still very sweet-smelling. And safe. Very safe.

"I'll protect you," he tells her, hands raking through her silky hair and pulling away from their sweet embrace.

She believes him.

"Anyone who hurts you -" he added, leaning in further, resulting in their noses bumped in a hypnotising way, "will _die_." He spits out. "And if _I _hurt you," he takes up her hand and pushes down three fingers so that only her index and middle finger were up like a pair of scissors, "You do this to me." He pulled her fingers up to his neck and drew a straight line. Her eyes widened and he drops her hand, wrapping his arms around her.

"I can't ... you won't ... you can't ... _you _won't _do that, will you_?" She splutters frantically. He smiles rather bitterly at her.

"If I hurt you, then I will."

She bites on her lip. "But you _won't_, will you?"

He shakes his head.

And that was all she needed. She nods at him, and closes her eyes contently.

* * *

He kills again.

She stands there, behind the scene, hands quivering over her eyes. He turns around and fixes her with his eyes, and although she is covering her eyes she can feel them boring into her body. And it was _horrifying_.

"Y-you did it ... again?" She whispers in a shocked voice, slowly lowering her shaking hands. His eyes are filled with that intense look of cold fury again, and all he does is growl ferociously in response, now glaring at the bleeding body on the ground.

"I don't know why," he kicks the body so that it rolls over and shows the soulless eyes on the boy's head - she turns away and tries not to puke at that - "everyone just won't _stop_ hurting you!" He nudges the boy with his foot and the head drooped lifelessly to the other side. "You can look now," he grunts at her.

"Just let it go," she tells him quietly, trying to reason with him just as she had done on the first time he killed people for her sake. "I just ... everyone just likes to do that, okay? And I don't really ..." she rubs her arm. "... care anymore."

He turns away from her, and no more words are shared between the two.

* * *

Delicate, she is. Delicate, delicate, so very delicate, he wants to tell her.

Breaks at every single touch, shatters at every single word, snaps at every single look, never strong. And she had too soft of a heart, thinking that everything was her fault and hers only. Not to mention that she was a crybaby; she never told him but he knew.

He loves her nevertheless.

And as he fingers his dagger, twinkling as it bathes in the beam of moonlight shooting in from the slightly parted curtains, he wonders why they like to hurt her so much, and whether he'd hurt her as well.

_I don't really know_, he decides with, keeping the blade away and whipping around to stare at the tiny, sleeping bundle on the bed. She looks less worried as she slept, less strained, more serene than usual. He walks to her bed in two big strides - her room wasn't that small to begin with - and fingers some strands of her silky teal hair that slips out from his hand, just like water.

"Naughty," he whispers in an undertone to her, a rather maniac smile gleaming on his face, "leaving the window open in the middle of the night. We won't know what will happen to you, who'd come in to your room ..." he takes another handful of her locks again and opens his hand to let it drop to the floor, "but somehow it just seems as though you were waiting for me ..."

He leans down, gives her a quick peck on the forehead, and with a last glance backwards at her, slips out from the open window.

* * *

Some people just _don't _learn from their lessons, he thought disdainfully as his blade sunk into the body of a teenaged boy, leading to blood-curling shrieks. His lips curled upwards as he felt satisfied with the boy's scream, and he pulled out the dripping blade, only to plunge it back into the boy's heart. He shrieked painfully again, eyeballs bulging painfully, and then after a few seconds in which his voice got stuck in his throat and he merely choked a while, he slumped down, life no more.

He sighs rather sadly, breath curling into a smoky wisp before him as the cold breeze blows past him - or _them_, including the bloody corpse - and he cuddles into his scarf _she _made for him. _It's cold lately, _she had told him as she presented the heap of red to him with a bright-red face. He fingers the cloth, wondering if she purposely chose this shade of crimson for him, based on the number of blood that had tainted his now dirty fingers. Stepping away from the corpse - his boots made a horrible squelchy noise as he accidentally sunk his foot into a puddle of blood - and setting off for home with his hands in his coat pockets, her face wanders into his mind.

Everyone just seems to have this special tendency to hurt her, he realises. But what if I stop it ...?

Her laugh rings in his head, and a crazy grin is on his face again.

_... I know!_

* * *

"Hey," he greets her as he steps into their tiny hiding-hole, where she was siting in a small wooden stool, basket in lap and needles in hand, knitting away. She looks up with a tired smile, lifting one of the hands that was holding a needle as some sort of wave. He drags out a similar stool and sat beside her, staring as she finished knitting a snug-looking sweater.

"For my mother," she says fondly, lifting up the completed clothing to have a better look. She turns to him. "What do you think about it?"

"Beautiful," he murmurs dismissively, half talking about her. She merely hums a wordless melody, sewing a few buttons here and there. "Hey," he says again, this time to get her attention. She turns, a soft smile still on her lips, and tilted her head at him.

"Hmm?"

"What if ... what if no one bullied you, ever again?" He asks her, pulling down his scarf a little bit. Her eyes darkens visibly and she shrugs helplessly, staring down at the needles and yarns in her hands.

"That would ... that would be nice," she admits, closing her eyes. "And ... and you won't have to kill of anyone again," she adds, giving him a rather pointed and sharp look. "And I can be happy again. I've forgotten what it was like to be happy, though ..."

"I can stop that," he tells her.

She looks up at him, confused. "Stop what?"

"Stop those ... you know, bullies. You can be happy. They will stop. And you can be with me. See?"

She blinks. "What in the world ... do you mean?"

He stands up and walks to her while she slowly scoots away from him on the stool, looking unhinged by his words. "You said it before ... the first time I ... killed ... you said, why don't I ... _die_?" He whispers the last word and raises the shiny knife, grinning down at her. She looks horrified.

"But ... but ..." she whispers, her back against the wall and eyes as wide as saucers, "I don't ... there is another ... way ... no ... family ... _Len_!" She shrieks.

A few moments later, blood drips down to the floor, staining the new sweater, and she slumps again the wall, life sucked out of her.

He drops the knife and lifts her up, cradling her in his secure arms.

"No one will hurt you in death, darling," he hums.

* * *

The police sirens blare, almost droning out the sound of the newsman speaking. Annoyed, he turns up the volume and grins at the news.

_"Serial killer ... many teenaged boys dead ... from a certain Academy ... mostly known for bullying a girl ... Miku Hatsune ... Miku missing ... Around ten boys dead by now ... no more killings for the past few days ... award to those who capture this supposed serial killer ..."_

A knock sounds on the door and a man's voice rings in. "Hello? Anyone in there?" Then with a specific clear of his throat, he says in a loud voice that passes through the strong wooden door, "Uh, excuse me, but you need to open the door for us to check, we are the police and we are finding a killer ..."

He quietens, hands around _her _cold corpse. The man's voice comes in again. "Hello?" Then, in a lower voice, the policeman says to somebody else, "It's no good, I think someone is in there but I don't know who ... we probably need to break in ..." For the third time, the policeman outside knocks on the door. "Anyone home?"

He looks down at her and her closed eyes, her hair still silky and soft, her white dress stained with red splatters of blood and a large hole where he had stabbed her. "I remember our promise," he says, digging out the familiar dagger and shoving it into her limp hands, so white that they seemed blue while ignoring the shouts from the policemen outside his door as they tried to get him to open the door. "If I hurt you ..." He cupped her hands and raised them to his neck, his left hand holding the back of her head.

_"Anyone who hurts you, will die. And if I hurt you ..._

_"You do this to me."_

"You do this to me." He repeats, and slices his neck just as the police slams their way in.

* * *

EPILOGUE

"She was found with this boy, miss," the police says to a sobbing woman, pointing to a blond boy who was being pushed into an ambulance and another girl, stiff and blueish, her head covered with a piece of white cloth, carried into the ambulance as well. "And ..." the man looks down at the floor grimly, avoiding the woman's eyes, "we would like you to perhaps search the poor girl's room, to find any sort of evidence - why the boy killed all of those ... other kids?"

The woman chokes violently, but nods anyways. The policeman sighs, relieved, and with a last bow and a pitiful pat on the woman's back, he retreated to the place where the other police were. The woman retreats into her house, feeling dark and gloomy inside, trudging up to her daughter's room. Every step felt agonising, and somewhere deep inside her, she wished that she wouldn't find anything in her daughter's room at all. But her wishes didn't come true as she found a piece of paper sitting on her daughter's desk.

Her eyes skim the memo quickly, then she reads it a few more times as if to confirm the words. She covers her mouth as the paper flutters from her trembling hand to the ground, dropping to the ground and weeping bitterly. On the note it read:

_Dear Mom,_

_I'm sorry. I love him._

_Love you!_

_-Miku. _

"The things love does, huh," the woman murmured, smiling bitterly at a photo of her daughter grinning with another blond boy around her age. "Miku ..."

* * *

_I'm sorry I didn't know how to end it at all. And I'm supposed to write this chapter for another story so ... _


	6. lie

six: lie

* * *

_._

_"You lied."_

.

* * *

She told lies like an expert, and if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he wasn't really sure at all, to be honest.

She could easily twist her words as if they were made of clay, and if you compared the truth to her made-up lies, although there was a big difference between the two stories, the outcome was still the same and in the end, she wasn't lying at all. She was just bending the truth into her own sense of logic, and she merely just twisted the truth so much you wouldn't even know how to tell which one was real, her words or the truth. And, in the end, nothing mattered.

Perhaps she also fabricated lies like a magician. It was sometimes over-exaggerating and you'd know that it wasn't true at all, but at other times it was simply fascinating, just so intriguing. And every time she lied, he'd know, of course he would, but he'd just listen to her lie because it simply amazed him how she excelled in lying. And, when they were bored, he would request for her to lie and she would, and then they would just curl up together and he would listen to the beautiful words sprouting from her mouth. She called it 'storytelling' but he liked to refer it as lying, because that was what it was in the first place. Lying. And she always denied that she lied, the little liar.

Sometimes he would feel rather disappointed when she lied, because how hurt would you be, if the person you were dating _lied _to you, their lover, the person they're supposed to trust? But he'd eventually let it go, because she had her own reasons to lie, after all. That was how he was. Too _soft-hearted, _she often teased him.

When she did something wrong, he would question her, and she would - of course - try to worm her way out of punishment. Those were the times when he didn't really know when she was lying and when she was not, but one look into her eyes and he'd knew the truth.

And it remained that way; at least, they thought that it would.

But it didn't.

* * *

"I'm dying," she told him bluntly, turquoise eyes glittering under the light, but completely void of any emotion. "Disease."

He looked up from his book in shock, eyes widening at the girl before him while she rubbed her arm, looking away. "What?"

Her eyes snapped back at him. "I'm dying," she repeated sharply, her reply almost hissed out. "Just went to the doctor for a check-up today, he said that I would die - die in around - around -" she gulped, eyes watering, "- a week."

He gaped. "What? How? ... Why ..." His voice trailed off uselessly, and she covered her face with her bony hands, crashing to the ground as a broken heap. Almost instinctively, he stood up and rushed over to her side, bending down and trying to pry off her hands from her face. "Hey, wait, don't cry, it's ... it's okay ... wait, no, it isn't ... nothing was ever okay ... are you lying, Miku?"

Her wet hands slowly lowered from her face, and, after what seemed like a tensed eternity, she shook her head, slowly but firmly. "I wish I am!" She shouted out, voice laced with tears, and it broke his heart to see her in this state. "I lied! I said that I was strong! But no, no, I am not! I don't want to die! I'm scared! I just want to ... live ... with ... you ..." she whispered, bowing her head. "No, no, no, this can't happen, it can't, it can't, I can't die, you can't, I don't want to, I don't ..."

He bit on his lip, trying to think up of some way to comfort the broken girl before him. Then he reached out a hand and rubbed her back soothingly. "Hey, it's - it's okay, I ... you can live the last of your life to the fullest, right? We can - we can start - now, I guess - and then -" He didn't continue, chewing harder on his lip. No, he can't cry, not when she was so shattered at the idea of leaving. Instead, he grabbed her quivering shoulders and pulled her into his embrace, stroking her teal tresses. "Here, is this okay?"

She stiffened as if his hug frightened her, but slowly loosened up and wrapped her arms around his shoulder, crying at his neck.

And they remained that way, no one talking.

* * *

That day she was admitted into the hospital, choking and wheezing but telling him that she was okay.

He laughed dryly. "Yeah, stop lying."

She scowled a little bit. "No, I'm really -" her sentence was cut off as she began to cough vigorously. "I'm really okay."

"At least that's what I want to believe," came the monotonous reply. "Just tell the truth for once already."

They stared at each other for a few moments, her eyes sparkling with a powerful emotion and his cool and chilling, willing her to do as she was told, and finally she gave up and broke down on the hospital bed, her pearly tears leaving dark watermarks on the snow-white bed, then his shirt.

That moment only stopped - even as she finished sobbing and settled to just close her eyes and forget everything - when the nurse came in and declared that she was to eat her medicines.

* * *

It was half past six in the morning.

"Oi."

He raised his head from his arms, glaring at her weakly. "Go to sleep," he mouthed, tilting his head at the other patients.

"You could just close the binds," she pointed out, making a pulling action with her hand.

Sighing, he got up and pulled over the binds, obscuring them from view. He looked at her and whispered, "Happy?"

"No." She hissed back.

"What do you want now?"

"Why are we speaking in whispers?"

"Other people are sleeping. You should go to sleep, too."

"I don't want to." She sounded like a little child. "I want a story. I used to tell _you _stories and now it's my turn to have one. Tell me one. Make it up."

Smiling now, he silently picked up the chair and set it beside the bed, seating himself in it. "But I'm horrible at making things up."

"Yeah," she said bluntly, "like lying. And trying to get people to do things your way."

"But you listened to me yesterday," he reminded her.

"That was an exception," she persisted. "Now tell me a story. I want one. Now."

"No."

She made a whiny noise. "Why?"

"You're too childish. I hate you. Go back to sleep already."

She glared. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry. Now I want a story. Please."

Not wanting to quarrel with a sickly girl, he propped his arm up on the bed and placed his face on his fist, while his other hand curled her hair.

"So there was this girl -"

"No!"

A sigh again. "What now?"

"You must make it a happy story, see?" She pointed a finger into his face. "It must start with _Once Upon a Time_ or something like that."

"But this is not a happy story," he told her, pushing her finger away from his face. "It's a sad story."

A pout from her. She was really acting childish now, unlike her usual cool and collected self. Why, he wondered. "But I want a happy story! I'm sick here! And I don't want to speak in whispers anymore!"

A quarter to seven. The tiny digital clock beeped fearfully as the two had a glaring stand.

This time she won. "You're a really immature girl," he remarked and she smirked smugly. "We can talk in normal tones once it's seven, see?"

"But by then your story would have finished!"

"Then I don't need to tell the story now."

"No!" She objected. "No, no, tell it now."

"But I forgot my old story."

"Then make a new one." She called him something mean after that and he tutted disapprovingly, just like a mother hen.

"I want to tell the first story."

"It started with a girl then I cut you off."

"For five minutes."

"It wasn't my fault."

"You whined." He prodded her cheek. "And that's for calling me something bad. Don't do that in a hospital."

She rubbed her cheek. "Sensitive," she muttered grumpily.

Sensing that if he snapped back there would be a fierce argument, he pretended that he didn't hear her. "_Once Upon a Time_," he began in emphasised tones, "there was this girl and she always cried."

She quietened down on the bed, looking interested. "Ooh," she said.

"Because she kept crying, everyone hated her and left her behind. And then, one day, a boy found her.

"'Why are you crying?' He asked her.

"'Everyone doesn't like me. I don't have friends,' she told him.

"'Then you should stop crying,' he told her. Then he gave her a tissue to wipe away her tears. 'And I can be your friend. A first friend, see?'

"After that, they become - err - best friends and stuff. And the girl would always cry, though, everywhere. Even when they grew up. Even at their wedding. Because she liked to cry and everything.

"One day the boy was diagnosed with cancer, and he was in the hospital. And then he died. The end."

For a while she looked rather pitiful, then the expression hardened and she scowled. "That was terrible. What kind of ending was that? What did it mean?"

"He died."

"That sounds like me though." She said thoughtfully. "You're the useless crybaby and I'm the boy who died in the end." There was a hint of sadness.

He snorted. "Of course not. _I'm _the boy, see? You were the crybaby. Actually you lied, but lying is similar to crying and it doesn't matter anyway. And I died in the end. Not you. I die. You lie."

"Hoho," she muttered, smiling a little bit. "I want a new story! New one! Now I want a puppy in it!"

Seven in the morning. Dawn broke and some other patients were stirring.

He grinned playfully. "Okay, so, _Once upon a time_, there was a girl who turned into a puppy. Her name was Miku and she was the ugliest puppy because of her teal fur and everything. And she stayed that way because the magicians and sorceresses were all afraid of the puppy. She stayed that way. The end."

"Was the puppy me?"

"Yes."

"Why was it ugly?"

"Because teal looks horrible on puppies."

"You always said that it was your favourite colour after yellow though."

"Because it looks nice on you."

"Not puppies?"

"Not puppies."

Silence. "Okay."

More silence. "Hey, Len -" she started, her eyes becoming more heavy-lidded with sleep now and her voice took over a groggy slur, "if I get out from this hospital thing, let's buy a puppy."

He looked shocked. "Okay," he choked out. "A teal one."

"But there are no teal ones."

"We can dye it." He pointed out. "So it would look like you."

"No, I don't want a teal one. I want a brown one. With patches."

"Teal patches."

"Yeah."

He smiled. "Deal."

She held out a finger. "Promise?"

He latched his pinky around hers. "Promised."

* * *

"Three more days." She counted.

He looked up from his book and at the girl who was previously asleep. It was obvious that she had just woke up; her hair was tousled and there was a thin line of saliva running down from her mouth. She wiped it away with her sleeve. "Three more days to what?"

She looked at him. "My death date."

"Uh." He was at a loss for words. "You didn't really need to count that?" He tried.

"It's on Sunday, see," she shoved the calendar to his face, "so you have an off day. That's good, because I want you to give me an _orchid _bouquet, not those stupid roses. They're so cliched and stuff. No. I want something nice and white. Like orchids. You got me?"

He pursed his lips and took the calendar away. "Seriously, Miku, stop, I can tell you another story if you want -"

"I can choose a casket myself though," she babbled on, her hands gripping the blankets tightly. "Yeah, I'm going out tomorrow to buy a casket. And stuff I can wear when I die. You can follow me, can you?"

He held out his hands. "Miku -"

"I think about it!" She sniffed, bitting on her lip. "Every night, I can't sleep, I don't know what I can do, I want to stay with you, I'm afraid that you'd forget me -"

"I won't," he cut in, ruffling her head. "I won't. There's still the teal puppy, right?"

There were tears in her teal orbs, but they didn't fall and she chose to grin happily instead.

* * *

"I still want a puppy, though," She whined, acting like a child again. "Today's the last day according to the doctor, and if you don't get me a puppy, tomorrow when I go bye bye I will find you and haunt you until you buy one!"

He stared. "Don't joke like that." He chided sternly. She pouted.

"But -" She started, but stopped as his stare hardened slightly and steered the subject to a safer zone. "Uh, I still don't want roses, though. They stink like mad. I want orchids. Yeah, buy the orchids."

He sighed and pressed his forehead into his palm, shaking his head. "You're making things a lot sadder when you act so optimistically."

She shifted uncomfortably in the bed and whimpered. "Err, yeah, I guess ... It gets sadder when I'm _not _happy, not when I'm happy! Or ... something like that." More shifting. She swore a little bit, which wasn't something she was supposed to do. "I want a swivel chair!"

He ogled at her. "Why?"

"Because," she said it exasperatedly as if he were stupid, "I want to swivel! And swivel chairs are so spin-ney! Like, spin! Twirl! Turn! Yeah!"

"But I can't get you one."

"No!" She protested, grabbing a rose from the fresh bouquet he bought for her and flinging it into her face. "Swivel chair now!"

"I'll get you a puppy," he promised. "A puppy. But not a swivel chair. In fact, I'll try to make a puppy now."

She cheered, then tried to wrapped her arms around him in a hug but failed and hugged the air instead when he inched away fearfully from her. "Will it be a real one or a fake one?"

He pondered. Then he said, "A fake one." She whinged at that, flapping her arms. "Because I can't get a real one. I'll sew it for you. Really."

She beamed at him. "Thank you."

He stared a little, then smiled as well.

* * *

"She passed away, sir," the nurse whispered apologetically. He stood there, frozen in his place. "In her sleep. There was no pain whatsoever. Just serenity on her face. We tried saving her, sir, but ..." the nurse looked down.

"Oh, uh," he tried to think of a reply. The tiny nurse gingerly patted him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, sir. Do you - ah - perhaps, do you want to see ... her?"

"Yes please," he squeaked. "Yes, I want to. Thank you."

The brunette nurse opened a door, and she was laying on her bed, teal hair pooled around her as several doctors murmured silently. They all looked up at his arrival and looked more solemn than they already were. A tall doctor who looked like the nurse's father strode over, and bowed to him.

"Sir, she was one of the miracles. She had a weak heart and she was very fragile, and we estimated that she would live for only a week. But she surprised us by living for two."

He blinked dazedly. It was two weeks? Seemed like an hour, though ...

"She passed away in her sleep. We expected her death to have more trashing and screaming, but she just passed away. And she ..." the doctor rubbed his arm. "Well, I think that you should see for yourself ..."

He nodded, walking over to her side. Her face wasn't covered by a cloth yet, perhaps the doctors and nurses didn't have the heart to do so or maybe they just wanted him to have a last look at her. He reached out a brushed away some of her hair, and saw -

She was smiling. Just slightly, but peacefully. It didn't even look like she was sick. She looked as though she was just sleeping ...

For the first time in around a decade, he broke down, ignoring all of the doctors and the brunette nurse who came to comfort him.

* * *

"Hello," he said, voice dull.

There was no response.

"I came to see you," he continued anyway.

Silence.

"And I got you," he fished around in a satchel and pulled out a toy, "this."

The wind ruffled the dry leaves on the ground and he felt his friend place a hand on his shoulder comfortingly but ignored said friend.

"Eh, it's not really well-made," he admitted, turning the toy over. "And I got you orchids as usual," he declared, placing the flower down.

"Drop it," his friend whispered from behind him. "She's - she can't hear you," he said, voice cracking a little.

At this point he turned around to glare at the friend, then turned back. "So yeah," he said lamely, "puppy for you as promised."

He set the toy down - a brown dog with a patch of teal lining its left eye. "There. It looks rather terrible or something, I don't know," he mumbled, bending down to finger the puppy's ear, "but you didn't get out of the hospital so I couldn't get a real dog for you." His voice caught there and he didn't trust himself to speak anymore so he stood up.

"You lied," he scolded. "You said that it was okay _once_, but you lied. It is not okay. You are not okay. I am not okay. You lied." A lump grew in his throat and he forcefully pushed it down.

"I still love you, though," he managed, placing another orchid next to the puppy. "Maybe I can come back and tell you a story again. But I was always bad at making things up, so ..." he sighed.

He smiled a little bit. "Maybe I'll tell you one of your old stories or something. S'that good with you?"

"Len," the friend behind him whispered urgently. "I think you've got it too hard on yourself. Her - ahem - leaving sorta ruined you, I don't know. But I know that you're acting bonkers now and it's scaring the jujubes out of me, so let's go home already."

Another glare. "Shut up, Lui." The boy behind him muttered and actually listened. He turned back to her grave and stared at the smiling photo. "I'll be back," he promised.

"And I won't lie anymore. At least, not to you."


	7. tears

seven: tears

note: One more update coming up on Friday don't worry ma bbys uwu

* * *

.

_They tasted like salt._

_._

* * *

Was it bad to cry all the time?

Because she often did, since the day he had so cruelly rejected her, pushed her away and ran off with another girl.

So what was she to him, exactly?

She had just walked up to him and said, _"I like you." _Just a mere statement, nothing more, but his _girlfriend _had came out from the other room and he had coldly said no as a response, while the girl clung onto his arm and sneered behind his back.

For some reason she had just cried, bitter tears coming out from her swollen red eyes and rolling down her cheeks like rain. She wouldn't really call tears bitter, since that they tasted like salt. But it was all the same anyways.

Her family and friends begged for her to move on but of course she didn't; her heart was with him and stubbornly it wouldn't let go.

In other words, her love for him was rather long-lasting.

His, however, was not.


	8. sightless

eight: sightless

notes: Len swears to 'frank' a lot because apparently _I _do for some reason, so this chapter is not going to turn out really sad because of the stupid things Len thinks of. And Miku's habit of reading dictionaries came from me as well; and oddly my friends find reading dictionaries creepy so Len does as well. Also, I'm really sorry if I'm updating three days slower than the original deadline or whatever, I'm not even replying to messages I'm such a mean person I'm sorry, because an important exam is coming up in September and if I fail anything in that I can't really go to middle school anymore so I need to study and I shouldn't be on the computer but I use it anyways (because YOLORIGHT- /slapped) and plus mind blocks and fevers make everything so hard help me I'm not good under stress okay ;n; Also the English teachers in my school were to choose 4 out of around 500 (three grades combined) students and somehow they chose me as the fifth and I'm supposed to write English essays. And I don't want to at all, it seriously sucks. *loud sobbing noises*

notes 2: I love all of you thanks for the reviews uwu You all can do prompts as a special just write some random thing I'll write your prompt for sure because well I don't have ideas too (fail #2) and uh I'll only take 10 prompts. Though I don't think there will be so many ... *sad sigh here* I swear I talk too much lately. ;n;

This was too long to be a drabble as well, and although I read through the whole thing and picked out as many mistakes as I could, I'm not sure if it's completely void of errors, so report to me if you spot one! Thank you!

* * *

_._

_"Look up the word 'love' for me, can you?"  
_

.

* * *

He had been admitted into the hospital for whatever sick reason and had to _stay _there, and when his family told him that obviously he went all like _oh gods no I swear to frank that place is __depressing as _heck_, don't send me there please oh gods I will love you so, so much if you let me stay _but of course they wouldn't listen to him and here he was ...

... alone in the hospital.

_God, _they could at least visit him if they sent him here! But no, they went off and continued with their happy little lives while he was stuck in this white prison slash hell place thingie also known as the hospital to all the commoners out there, mourning for nothing. No one even called him or anything. Okay, fine, they did come, but they left him alone for two hours. Which is too long for him to be alone, because he can't do anything at all. This is stupid, he told himself.

But since he was such a good person, he would do something that was completely awesome and cool. And it would not only take care of his boredom, it could also cure someone _else's _boredom! How amazing is that? And all he had to do was -

"I am going to visit someone!" He declared to the empty, quiet room. No one answered, of course, but he stood up boldly from his boring white bed (where he had been reading a tedious book that he was not interested in at all) and marched away from his ward, knowing fully that he might either forget the number of his ward or get chased back by a fierce nurse.

"I think I should go to a ward near me," he realised, rubbing his chin in thought. "One that is supposed to be empty, so I don't barge in on anything and get chased out by anyone. A peaceful room with a peaceful person is the best." He turned his head to look at the ward opposite of his. "Okay, it will be this one."

And he pushed open the door.

* * *

**October 19, 1st Year**

Inside the brightly-lit room was a girl, her hands folded on her lap and just like him, she was alone in the room. She seemed to be deep in thought, but she jumped a little bit when he came in.

"Who's there?" She asked in a soprano, angelic voice. "Are you the nurse? Or could you be the doctor?"

"Nah," He drawled, closing the door behind him. "I got bored in my room because I have been left alone there for two hours, so I decided to come and visit some of my ... ah, fellow patients. Yeah, that is all."

The girl on the bed hummed slightly, raising a hand and beckoning him to her side. "Oh? If that is so, come here for a while." He obliged, walking to her side and looking curiously at her. For some reason, the girl kept her eyes closed as if sleeping. He watched as her hair was fanned out behind her when she leaned back onto the soft pillow. "Let's talk," the girl prompted. "You start something."

"Okay," he said, pulling a chair and flopping down onto it. The girl seemed gentle, he thought, so she probably wouldn't throw me out.

_Probably._

"What's your name?" He asked, leaning forward. The girl's hair fluttered as a soothing breeze blew in from the window.

"Miku," she said quietly. "Yours?"

"Len," he chirped.

"Nice name," she commented. "Sounds like summer and berries to me."

How could she make anything out of his three-lettered-very-boring name, he wasn't sure. Why does it sound like summer and berries, he also didn't know, but he knew clearly that he thought that this girl was weird and creepy in the way that old people are. They just have those wise, intelligent air vibrating off them. People might think that it's calming or peaceful or kind or whatever, but he thought that it was creepy. And weird. He didn't like that kind of people and he sincerely hoped that he wouldn't end up like that or he'd just creep himself out.

"Uh, okay, thanks," he said awkwardly, inching away from her and hoping that she didn't notice. "Hey, look at the window for a second," he told her.

The girl made the same humming noise in her throat. "Why should I? There's something on the window, I reckon?"

Now he thought that she was creepier for she used all those old English things normal people don't use on a daily basis. Or at least, he doesn't. But he didn't say that out loud, of course, he didn't want to be kicked out by this scary (in her own way) girl and pulled back slash confined in his ward again. No way. So he said, "Uh, yes, it's pretty. And stuff. Like, yellowish ... and whatever. Like summer, you said."

"But I don't see anything."

"Of course you don't," he said exasperatedly. God, people these days. "You're closing your eyes, miss - ah - Miku, if you could just open them for a while -"

"I can't see anything," she repeated, as if hinting something to him. Her fingers intertwined on her lap.

"But you -" Then it hit him. "You can't be blind, right?"

She sighed. "Been sightless since the day I came to this world. Never saw anything like colours, that's for sure. My life is all black. It saddens me at times."

"And that's the reason why you stayed here?"

"Partly," she said. "The other reason is also because I ... well, my sickness is that I'm rather ill, perhaps. Not really a reason to stay in the hospital, but since that I'm blind, they decided to keep me in their sight at all times ..." Another sad sigh. "Ironic, isn't it? To keep a sightless person in your sight?"

This conversation is not how he wanted it to be. It was too sad. He had to change it before he cried or did something stupid in front of this beautiful girl. "Oh, I'm sorry for you," he mumbled, still racking his brain for a way to steer the conversation to a safer zone.

"Mm mm, don't be," she said, reaching out and patting his arm a little bit. He almost screamed in fright when she did that; she was blind, and she couldn't see him, how in the name of frank did she know that he was there? "So what's there on the window?"

Thank you, he mentally screamed to the girl. "Ah, it's a canary."

"Is it still there?"

"Yeah," he said, taking a look at the bird. "It still is."

"What shade of yellow is the canary?"

He was shocked at the queer question. "Ehh, I don't know. Sort of like my hair, you know, like the bright yellowish thingies ... like a banana! Yeah, people often say that my hair looks like a banana and is the colour of a canary. And, boy, it is mean, I hate all of them."

"It's not right to hate people," she said.

Don't you go all philosophic on me, I hate those things, he thought bitterly. "No, it's not hate, it's like, dislike, mutual dislike, uhh, which equals to hate so we kinda say hate to make things easier, I don't know ... or do you like the word abhor? Detest? Loathe? Or something?"

"You're unhappy," she told him.

How did she pick up on his mood? Goodness frank, this girl is creepy as heck. He wanted to go home.

"And you want to get away from me."

Okay, Len came to a conclusion: she can read minds. That was all he needed to know. "No, not really, I want to get away from this whole place and go home."

"I haven't touched home in at least seven years," she notified him. "No one comes to visit me as well, excluding the kind doctors and helpful nurses. You are the first."

Wow, that was cruel.

"I know."

Did he say that out loud?

"You did."

"Oh. Sorry."

There was awkward silence between them, at least awkward for him, he didn't know anything about her except that she has been trapped inside this hell hole and that her family are mean people who doesn't visit her at all. They made his family sound like angels, in fact.

"Look," she started, raising a hand. "How about you come back tomorrow? You are certainly uncomfortable now, and I don't want you to feel worse. It's time for me to rest, anyways," she informed him, reaching out to feel a glassless clock beside her. "Bye bye."

She was cute - uh, oops - she was weird. "Uh, sure." He stood up. "Bye ... bye?"

She waved absentmindedly at him. "Come back tomorrow, you know!"

Backing slowly towards the door, he managed to squeak out a weak "Okay" to her. Then he closed the door and he couldn't see her anymore.

* * *

**October 20, 1st Year**

The same time the next day, he came back to her ward to visit her, just like he had promised. He didn't even take his medicines or get any rest yet. He even read a dictionary just to understand and learn more 'hard and long English words' - as he called it - to speak to her.

As he raised a hand to knock the door, her voice rang out from within: "Don't bother to knock, just come in."

Wasn't she blind? Does she have a six sense or what?

"Uh, okay," he said quietly, turning the knob and letting himself in. She sat on her bed just like the previous day, her hand feeling the cover of a leather book. She didn't even look up when he came in. Which he thought was rude.

"You're back," she stated.

"I'm back," he agreed.

There was silence between them. The sound of her hands on the leather cover was disturbing and he forced himself to look away from her face. A good thing about her being blind: she could see neither his eyes on her features nor his blush on his face.

"Is there a bird on the windowsill today?" She piped up, finally placing the book onto the bedside table. He turned his head towards the window, glad for a distraction.

"No," he said, rather regretfully. "Why do you want to know, though?"

"I like their chirping," she told him. "If a bird is on my window then it may sing a song for me. I can sing along as well, wouldn't that be nice?"

"Uh," he cut in nervously, flapping his hand, "aren't birds normally afraid of people?"

"They aren't afraid of me," she said thoughtfully. "They perch on my finger and are ever so nice."

He winced at the thought of it. "Wouldn't it ... err, hurt? Like, their claws cutting into your finger?"

"No, it doesn't. Perhaps I got used to the pain."

Did she mean metaphorically or literally?

"Both."

Dang it, he said it out loud again.

"Indeed."

"Can you read minds?" He asked her.

"No," she sounded surprised at this. "Why?"

"Because you pick up on my mood, know that I am outside the door, and everything like that." He said.

She laughed - a twinkling, beautiful sound. "Of course not!" She giggled. "It's just that - I'm blind, you know, so my other senses - like my hearing or sense of touch - is stronger than normal people. I heard your footsteps outside the door, and it wasn't the click-clacking of a doctor's or nurse's heels so naturally I came to the conclusion that it was you." Her hand reached out a felt the clock without a glass beside her. "And it's the same time you visited yesterday."

She is physic, he realised. Just like a god or something. But of course he didn't say it out loud.

He decided to change the subject. "What book is that?"

She tilted her head and a strand of hair fell into her face. He resisted the urge to push it away gently. "Which book?"

"The leather one you were fingering oh-so-dearly just now." He pointed, but remembered that she couldn't see and dropped his hand.

"Oh, that one."

"What is it?"

"A dictionary." She said it so matter-of-factly that his jaw dropped.

"You ... read dictionaries on a daily basis?"

"That's right."

He was silent for a while, drinking in the information. Then he asked her, "Why?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders. "I don't know; they're just nice. I learn loads of thing from dictionaries, you know, you should try reading more."

"I read one yesterday."

"Was it good?"

"No," he replied truthfully.

She smiled as though she expected it. "Well, it gets tedious for some people anyways."

"Books are boring in general," he told her.

"If you don't read, what do you do?"

He was taken aback. Really, what does he do on a normal day? "I don't know, random things," he said finally.

"You can try reading some day, it's nice." She suggested.

"Okay."

"You can start by reading for me," she requested. "Is that alright with you?"

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "Which book?"

"A dictionary."

He thinned his lips. "But how am I supposed to read _that _to you?" He asked, bewildered.

She tapped her chin, thinking. "Ah, you can look up the words I ask you."

This is very weird, he thought exasperatedly in his mind, opening the book. "Okay ... what do you want to start with?"

"Eh," she paused to think again, "look up the word 'love' for me, can you?"

"What?" He blinked. "Love?"

"Yep!" She responded cheerfully, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I never understood that word, no matter how many times I read it over and over."

He sighed and said nothing, looking down to find the letter L, but then he realised a problem. "Wait, I don't understand Braille."

She reached out and snapped the book shut in his hands, plucking it out and placing it gently on the table. "Rummage through the bookshelves over there in the corner; there should be one in normal font. I usually get nurses to read for me as well."

He nodded slightly despite knowing fully that she couldn't see his nod, standing up and walking to the shelves. About a minute later - in which she had offered help to him many times, sensing that he was having difficulty in finding her book - he came back with a small, thick dictionary.

"Okay, I have the dictionary now," he declared, opening it and eating a mouthful of dust. After coughing, swearing and a lot of flapping, he managed to find the word 'love' and read it out for her. "Love - ah - an intense feeling of deep affection."

She frowned. "It sounds confusing, really. How about you explain it in your own way?"

"Err," he squeaked. "Love is, like, uh, _like_, but emm more intense than like or whatever. Uh. Like, you have this deep feeling for someone. And you want to protect them. Something like that."

"Ehh," she tapped her chin again - he noticed that she did that a lot when thinking. "I happen to have a deep feeling for you, what could it be?"

Immediately he flushed. This girl ... is straightforward. Very. "Might be friendship? Or something?"

She sighed. "Maybe. Then you can kiss me instead."

His cheeks reddened if it was possible. "No!" He nearly shouted. "That is not ... what friends normally do. That is something, uh, lovers do. Like people who love each other. We don't normally kiss people."

"But the books said that it was an action of affection -"

"Stop reading the books, will you," he snapped, glad that she couldn't see his red face. Though she could probably hear the stutter in his voice and, if she is a superhuman, maybe she could even feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. Which wouldn't be a good situation to be in. Now he just wanted to get away and sulk alone again.

"You're uncomfortable again," she noticed. "You always get awkward at some point or another, for some reason."

And the reason is you, he thought bitterly. "Well, we just met yesterday, and today you started asking me strange things, so ..."

"You're right," she agreed, bobbing her head weakly. "I think the nurse will be here soon to chase you out anyways. Come back tomorrow, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," he promised casually. Standing up from the chair to walk away from her.

"Wait," she called out, causing him to look behind. "You have to promise properly," she chided, holding out her pinky finger. "I read about this kind of thing in books, you latch your finger around the other person's right?"

"But those antics are for small children," he told her exasperatedly. She persisted anyways, still extending her finger.

"And we're all children at heart some way or another, don't you realise?" She complained. "Just do it already."

"But I don't like to promise things," he admitted. "It makes me feel really worried; like I'll break the promise or something."

"I have the same problem as well," she said. "But you walking away makes me feel highly insecure as well. Just say that you _might _come back and I'm happy."

"Fine," he grumbled, hooking pinkies with her. "I promise that I might come back if I'm alive tomorrow. So there. Go to sleep now."

She laughed, nudging his arm. "Just get out of here already," she joked.

He snickered along and strode out from the room, closing the door and making a mental note to come back the next day again. This session continued, and soon it became a habit for the two sickly patients.

* * *

**November 17, 1st Year**

"It's gotten colder lately," he noted. They were both minding their own business, her reading a book by feeling the pages and him randomly flipping through a children's storybook. She nodded, shifting a little bit in the bed.

"Indeed," she agreed, smiling. "I wonder when it'll snow, though ... I've never really felt snow in my hand before, the nurses always thinks that it's bad for me. Can you really eat the snowflakes?"

He reached and patted her head. "Yep. It tastes like water or ice, since that it _is _ice. Maybe when it snows I can let you eat a snowflake."

"But," she started, her hands freezing on the pages and a frown blooming on her lips, "the nurses wouldn't let us!"

"Ah, screw them," he said rather meanly, flapping his arms. "I'll sneak you out. I don't care if they don't let us; you're feeling snow."

"Or maybe we can go to the window," she suggested, smiling again. "I'll extend my hand and catch a snowflake. I've never done it by myself, I might fall. You can help me."

"No," he said stubbornly. "We're going out. It's nice. Really."

She sighed, leaning back. "All right, then," she said, giving up. He did a fist pump. "We'll go outside."

"When it snows," he added.

"When it snows," she said, nodding.

"And it's a promise!" They chirped together, ending up in silly giggles.

* * *

**November 22nd, 1st Year**

He looked worriedly at her. She looked rather troubled, mumbling under her breath and occasionally bringing her thumb to her lips and gnawing on her nail.

"What's wrong?" He asked finally, after she had patted her cheeks and got rather red.

"The doctor told me that there is a cure for my blindness," she mumbled distractedly.

He grinned. "That's great! You should be glad, not ... err, sad! Yeah, I'm happy for you."

"But if I gain my sight I need to take another person's," she pouted. "Not something I'd do."

"You could take a dying person's or something, right?" He asked meekly.

"No, it needs to be from a healthy person," she tapped her chin. "For some reason."

He frowned. "Maybe I can find a solution to our problem," he said.

"It doesn't have one," she grumbled. "Sadly."

"Hmm," was all he said. They sat in silence for a while until he said, "then I'll make a solution."

If she wasn't blind she would have eyed him suspiciously. "Don't do anything stupid, you know," she said threateningly to the boy. All he did was laugh and ruffle her head teasingly.

"I can't promise that I won't," he chuckled and she laughed, immediately forgetting the conversation they just had.

* * *

**December 8th, 1st Year**

"It's snowing," he told her. "Want to feel the snow now?"

She lifted her head weakly. It was getting colder and colder, so naturally her sickness worsened. What sickness she had, he still didn't know. She was fascinating enough to entertain you for a whole day, though, and she was just like a live storybook, spouting out lovely stories for him to listen. Sometimes she would gather invisible flowers in her arms, reciting the names of them, then she'd pour out the fake flowers from her laden arms and they'd laugh together. It was nice, spending time with her. He'd go back to his ward later than usual at times, and sometimes she'd fall asleep whilst reading. He was glad that his parents left him alone for two hours, really.

And she was cute, too, though he'd never admit it to her. One day, maybe, but that might be the worst time of his life. Heck, he might even die of embarrassment, who knows?

"Yes, please," she chirped excitedly despite being ill. "Wouldn't it be cold?"

"I'll be with you," he said. "You can - ah - hug me if you're cold. Or something. If you're not awkward."

Her cheeks reddened; he supposed that it was because of the cold. "In this whole room, you're the only one who gets uncomfortable at my presence," she mumbled.

"Not anymore," he retorted. "Do you want to feel the snow or what?"

"Okay, fine, thank you," she mumbled, throwing her legs off the bed and swinging rather wildly until he caught hold of her waist and steadied her. "Where's the window, though?"

"On the right," he said, dragging her over to said place. "I'm putting your hand outside now," he told her, pulling her hand out. A small flake landed on her tiny hand and she yelped.

"What was that?"

"It was a snowflake," he said happily. "You can eat it. Put it to your mouth, see. It tastes like ice, does it not?"

She nodded merrily. "It does. Thank you for letting me do this, it's nice. Let's do this again next year!"

He smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Yeah, let's."

And thus another promise was made.

* * *

**January 22nd, 2nd Year**

He was still in the hospital, and a few months have past since the day she told him that her sight could be regained. The doctors had notified him that she have been healing quickly because of his company and he was glad that she was, although he still didn't know what disease she had.

"Hey, Miku," he spoke up, nudging her arm lightly. She snapped out of a trance (he wasn't sure whether she was sleeping or not; he couldn't tell) and tilted her head.

"Hmm?"

"What sickness ... do you have?" He asked meekly, his voice trailing into nothing as she visibly stiffened at his question. "Uh, it's okay if you are uncomfortable with telling me, I was just wondering. Sorry." He added hurriedly. Her squared shoulders sagged and she sighed.

"No, I was simply surprised," she assured him, voice a tone softer than usual. "Um, my sickness is - ah -"

"Are you sure you really want to tell me?" He asked hesitantly, furrowing his eyebrows at her.

She sighed sadly again. "No, really, it's okay," she said again.

"Then what sickness is it?" He pressed.

"Depression."

He nibbled on his lip. "But that's not really a reason to stay in the hospital like that." He mumbled weakly.

She threw her hands up in the air. "Well, I'm an orphan and blind, and I don't have any guardian, so they thought that I should stay with them in the hospital, here."

"For free?"

"Some kind charities fund for me," she explained.

"That's sad," he said, starting to feel depressed. "It's worse than my sickness."

She turned to him. "Oh yeah, I forgot to ask you what disease you had."

"Mm," he said reluctantly, frowning, "tell you next time."

She whinged a little bit, but smiled slightly. "Promise?"

"Yeah," he said weakly. "Promise."

* * *

**February 24th, 2nd Year**

"You still haven't told me what disease you have," she said accusingly. "We promised, you know."

"I said next time, not next month," he retorted, leaning forward slightly. She pouted.

"But I want to know," she whined. "No matter how sad it is, I want to know."

"What for?"

"I should have asked you that when you wanted to know _my _sickness."

He was silent and she had a triumphant sort of smile on her face. "Well, mine might make you cry," he said. "Because it doesn't have a cure."

She pursed her lips into a thin line and didn't say anything for a short while. Then she said, "I don't care. Tell me; I've been waiting for a month already."

"Do all girls show their true colours after four months? You were really gentle and patient last time and look at you now."

"You dragged the promise for a month and two days, it's no surprise."

"Couldn't you just wait a little bit?"

"Just shut up and tell me already."

He glared at her and she continued pressing her lips together, both refusing to relent. Then, being the gentleman he was, he sighed and gave up. "Fine. Cancer."

"What type?"

"Lung cancer."

"How in the world could you have gotten it?" She inquired curiously.

"My father ... smoked." He muttered, unwilling to admit it and make it sound like his father was the cause of his disease.

"So it was his fault then," she concluded.

"No, it wasn't," he snapped, automatically defending his father. "It isn't anyone's fault."

"He made you exposed to smoke all the time," she said.

"I didn't know that could cause cancers," he mumbled.

"Well, it does," she told him. And they were silent, until she piped up, "Doesn't it have a cure?"

"Sadly, no," he sighed.

She was quiet after that. After a minute he thought that she was sleeping and got up to leave when she called out, "Then are you going to stay here forever?"

"If I don't die, then yes," he called back.

"Don't be so negative, I'm depressed over here!" She accused.

"You don't look like you are, seriously, I thought that you had some really nasty flu or something."

She scoffed and shooed him away teasingly by waving her hand. "Shush, shush, don't be rude. Go away, go away."

He laughed, turning the knob and swinging the door open, "Bye anyways."

"Bye bye," she said, smiling.

* * *

**March 16th, 2nd Year**

"It's my sister's birthday today."

"Wow, that's nice."

"She asks you if you want cake."

"She's here?"

"Yeah, she's in my ward."

"I've never been into your ward before; where is it?"

"Opposite yours."

"That must make visiting easier."

"It does."

"How many minutes does a walk take?"

"Lesser than one. Five seconds."

"That's good?"

"My sister wants to see you."

"Too bad I can't see her."

"Was that an intended pun?"

"No, it wasn't."

"She's coming in now."

A new voice. "Hello, Miku!"

"Hi, you must be his sister, right?"

"Yes!"

"Be more polite, Rin -"

"Happy birthday to you."

"Thank you!"

Silence.

"Are you two ... dating?"

"What's that?"

At the same time - "No, Rin, I've told you many times, we're _not!_"

"But you two look like you are."

"Shut up, maybe you've looked wrong."

"Look like we're what?"

"Dating, miss."

"And what's that?"

"It's something people do when they like each other."

"Well, I like him, does that count as dating?"

He told her, "Not that kind of like, Miku."

"I ... think so."

"And I like you too, so are we all dating?"

"My god, you are really ... naive."

"I've been shut in here for many years, excuse me for not knowing anything."

"Seriously, brother, I thought that you'd teach her already."

"But sometimes it's better being naive."

"What is dating exactly?"

"Uh," his sister tried to explain, "it's something boys and girls do -"

"Or girls and girls and even boys and boys."

"Shush," his sister hissed at him, "it's something a boy and a girl do when they love each other and want to have each other's babies and stuff like that but are too young to get married."

"That's ... confusing."

"But that's basically dating in a nutshell."

"It's still strange. Why not marry straight away? I don't like it."

"I told you she wouldn't like the idea of it, Rin."

"No, it's not!" His sister persisted. "It's - ah - romantic."

"But I find romance stupid; it never comes true for me in all the time they locked me up in this room."

"Thank you, Miku," he said gratefully. "you are my saviour."

A whisper from his sister: "... and I love you so much -"

"Don't listen to her, she's crazy."

"She's not, she's perfectly sane."

"Yeah, that's right, meanie!"

"But really, who'd actually date another person? I still find it strange, no matter how much I think about it."

"You're still new to the idea, of course you'd think that it's weird."

"You never thought that dating was weird when we were younger, Rin."

"I'm an exception. You did, though."

"I still find it weird."

"You both find it weird; don't you see this bond between you two?"

"Shut up, Rin."

"So are we dating or what?"

Two answers that came at the same time and successfully confused her:

"No!" From him and "Yes!" from his sister.

Her hospital room was chaotic and joyful that day.

* * *

**October 19th, 2nd Year**

"Good news!" She chirped happily, clapping her hands together.

He grinned, though he expected - he _knew _- what was coming up next. "What?"

"The doctor said that I will not be sightless anymore! Apparently someone is going to sacrifice their sight for me ... Oh, I wish I knew who it is!" She squealed, barely containing her excitement. "Then I can see, finally, I can see with _you_! I want to see the colours of canaries first, though," she said thoughtfully.

"That's great," he congratulated. Somehow he wasn't showing as much enthusiasm as she hoped he would.

"You sound so crestfallen," she said sadly, happy mood drooping away.

"No, no," he said gaily, laughing, although she could tell that it was forced. Something was bothering him. "I'm just ... tired."

"No, you're not," she said quietly. "Do you not ... want me to -"

"That's not it," he interrupted, words coming out in a rush. "You're just paranoid."

She lifted her head. "Yeah, perhaps I am ..."

He sighed, a relieved sigh. She noticed that.

"Or I hope that I am."

He was silent after that, and so was she.

_Today is the first day that we met ... do you remember?_

* * *

**October 31st, 2nd Year**

"Hey, Len ..." she whispered quietly, listening as the cool autumn breeze ruffled the curtains gently.

He looked up from his book. "Hmm?"

"Are you sure ... you weren't the one ..." Her hands were folded gently on her lap, and suddenly the awkwardness flowed in as though they had just met for the first time.

"No," he said, a little too quickly, "No."

"Is that right?" She sounded skeptical; he knew that she suspected him but was too polite to say so. Her actions said it all though ...

"Yeah," he said silently. "I think so."

"But I don't," she murmured, her words barely heard. But they hung in the air threateningly, and for the second time in a month they didn't speak with each other.

_I hope you didn't, it would pain me so. Don't do anything stupid. Please._

* * *

**November 4th, 2nd Year**

The operation was a huge success; she could see two days after the surgery. The world was colourful, pretty, everything was new to her. The knowledge that she could finally take a look at the world was so overwhelming that at times she would shriek and squeal at things she saw, just like a little child. And for some reason, his visits stopped; something that had never happened before. Her depression worn away, and she immediately thought that he was ill, and was too sick to get up from bed to see her. But no problem, she could go over to his ward!

She stumbled out from the bed, still looking around in awe. She distinctly remembered him telling her something about his ward being opposite of hers, so she limped over to the door and swung it open, turning her head around to check if there were any nurses nearby. When she spotted none, her soft hands closed around the metal knob and for a moment, she hesitated, wondering what she should say if she entered the wrong room. Then she meekly opened the door, quietly poking her head in.

The room was rather dark, the distinct sounds of a EKG beeping tauntingly echoing around. It seemed to be deserted, and the curtains were drawn tightly shut. She took a careful step inside, and saw a boy lying inside a hospital bed, his golden hair spread out around him. At the sound of her footsteps he shot up, hair dishevelled around his chin, asking, "Who's there?"

That voice ... was familiar. The boy didn't really look around wildly as one would do if they were in his shoes; could he be blind? Suddenly, a forgotten conversation came ringing in her ears clearly as though someone was playing a tape:

_"What shade of yellow is the canary?"_ She had asked.

_"Ehh, I don't know. Sort of like my hair, you know, like the bright yellowish thingies ... like a banana! Yeah, people often say that my hair looks like a banana and is the colour of a canary. And, boy, it is mean, I hate all of them."_ He had replied, sounding reproachful.

Slowly, she put two and two together, and a deadly conclusion formed in her mind, something that she didn't want to know. The words stuck in her throat, snowballing into a lump, but she managed to choke out:

"Len?"

The boy looked surprised. "Hey, I'd recognise that voice anywhere ..." A sheepish smile formed on his lips. "Miku?"

She ran to his side. "Did you ... were you the one ... was this the reason _why _you didn't come to see me anymore?" She sounded frantic and childish, even to herself, but she couldn't help it. "You said that you _wouldn't _do it! You lied!"

He sighed, large and comforting hands patting her tiny head. "But I didn't exactly promise you, did I?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but then he swooped in and - time just stopped like that, until he pulled away and she blinked confusedly.

"That's better," he said, messing up her hair. "That silenced you all right."

Her hands found their way to her mouth. "Was that a ... what did they call that again - kiss?"

He grinned. "Yeah. You taste nice."

She stuck her tongue out. "Gross!"

He laughed, and for a while they stayed like that, her head on her hands that rested on the cool railing that lined the bed and his hands soothingly running through her hair, until she remembered what he had done for her and the tears formed in her eyes again, but she fiercely wiped them away, clearing her throat to remove the burning lump that resided there.

"So you didn't come to visit me ... because you are blind now? Or is it because you are sick?" She asked uncertainly. "Must I come and visit you now?"

He smiled sadly. "It's both. Remember when I told you that I had lung cancer? The time they found out that I was plagued with that, it was already too late. And now my due date is coming soon, too bad."

The lump in her throat grew larger. "Due ... date?"

And thus the cruel words were spoken. "I'm dying, Miku."

No longer holding it in, she sobbed into his shoulder, his hands now looping around her protectively, blabbering and spluttering things like "It's my fault" and "I shouldn't have met you" and "Why are you dying", completely losing herself. He softly pushed her and held her face gently, wiping away her tears.

"But meeting you was nice," he said sadly, smiling. "I liked your voice, and you were nice and cute. At least I've done something meaningful in my life: meeting you and sharing my sight with you."

"But you can't die _now_," she whispered, shaking his shoulders frantically. "I've just seen you!"

"And I've lost sight of you," he murmured, hands still cupping her face.

They stayed like that, large pearl-like tears dripping from her perfect cerulean eyes that was once his, refusing to believe the cruel reality.

_Don't leave me. There's something I haven't told you._

* * *

**November 10th, 2nd Year**

She no longer spent her days finding out new things, laughing and smiling, but instead going to his ward and visiting him everyday, talking to him and laughing, as though their roles have switched. She read books to him everyday, and even thought him how to use Braille, trying to reserve the last moments she could spend with him. She was not ill anymore, so she didn't have any reason to stay in the hospital, but the doctors have all agreed that she should remain in her ward until someone comes and takes care of her. She was glad of that, though, it was much easier to stay with him that way.

The days she had spent with him literally flew; she didn't notice when a week passed, focusing on spending as much time with him as possible. His family seemed to come way after her visiting hours, as though giving them some personal time and space. Slowly she learnt how to play the piano, and seeing that he had one in his hospital room for whatever reason, played lovely songs for him. He would tell her fascinating stories about things his family have done and in return she would sing his favourite songs for him.

And those days ... they were nice. Sadly, as everyone knows, nice days couldn't last. Eventually he grew weaker, and could barely lift a book anymore, needing assistance in everything he did. She always jumped to help him, and tried her best not to cry and stay strong for him. She understood that her actions ... they were all spurred by a certain emotion that was awakening in her heart, something that she wanted to push away in fear of hurting both of them.

_I ..._

* * *

**November 17th, 2nd Year**

It was his last day in the beautiful world, and early in the morning, a sad-looking nurse entered the room and told her that he called for her specifically. She had just been getting ready to visit his ward, and, sensing something wrong, ran helter-skelter to his room, throwing the door open and racing to his side, flopping down onto a chair. At this point he could barely speak without getting a cough or two into his sentence, and his weak hands found hers, a smile reaching his lips as he choked out:

"It's today."

The lump returned into her throat but she said nothing, thinking that if she spoke she would burst out crying, so she squeezed his hand and encouraged him to continue speaking.

"I want to tell you something."

Her eyes widened. The EKG seemed to go faster than normal ... why was that?

"And you might hate me for that, so don't hate me for whatever I say next, please."

She chewed on her lip. "Just say it already!" She burst out, hand clamping on her mouth to muffle the chokes that came immediately after. He must have heard them, though, because his hand shot out with surprising speed and wiped away her tears. She swore at that time ... he had a tear radar. Was she like that when she was sightless?

She opened her mouth - the same time he did - and together they blurted out the same words, hers mingled with sobs and his mixed with sadness and affection:

"I love you."

And at that time his heart stopped beating, the prolonged beep from the heart-rate machine echoing in the silent air as she held tightly onto his limp hand, staring blankly at his smiling, peaceful face.

_I don't want you to go._

* * *

**November 18th, 2nd Year**

After he had passed away, his parents had came bursting in while she sat there numbly, filled to the core with disbelieving and sadness. The same, large lump came back again, and soon she found herself sobbing in the arms of a nurse, the same one that had tended to her so kindly previously. He was gone, just like that, and she could never see him nor hear his voice again. His promises rang around in her head, one in particular:

_He had just led her to the window and allowed her to taste a snowflake. She was grinning, laughing and smiling all at the same time. It was the best moment of her life, literally. "Thank you for letting me do this," she had said, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Let's do this again next time!"_

_His laugh was clear, comforting and soothing to the ears. "Yeah," he had promised, "Let's."_

And she didn't even get to do it the second time. That liar.

_You even promised; where did all of the promises go?_

* * *

**November 20th, 2nd Year**

The first time she saw his sister, Rin, she was crying. And she was beautiful.

"You look just like him," she said dully to the blonde girl standing before her. "You're very pretty."

Rin smiled gently, wiping away a tear. "Thank you ... your eyes ..." her hands reached forward and wiped the spot under her almond-shaped eyes, as tenderly as he had done, "they look like him." Rin smiled.

She just stood there in shock, watching as Rin broke down in sadness, wiping away more tears but smiling, so that she was crying and smiling, smiling and crying at the same time. Then she came to her sadness and imitating him, cupped the girl's face and brushed away the tears.

"Hey, don't cry," she whispered. "These eyes ... they don't belong to me," the numb tone returned to her voice. She probably looked and sounded terrible.

"No, they do," Rin choked out, swollen eyes crinkling into a smile, "They look beautiful on you; your bright teal hair compliments the cerulean. You look perfect, just like the sky and the ocean. No wonder ..."

She was silent, staring at her hands sadly. Then, out of curiosity, she asked the girl: "No wonder what?"

Instead of directly answering her question, Rin asked her, "You loved him dearly, don't you?"

She bowed her head. "Yeah."

"Then, aren't you happy that you've got a piece of him with you?" She looked up, and saw herself reflected in Rin's beautiful pools of blue. They looked really alike, she thought.

Honestly, she replied, "Of course."

Rin looked up at the sky, the wind blowing through her short sunshine-coloured hair. She looked exactly like summer, just like how his name sounded like summer. "He always told me that you were beautiful, like a shivering flower. Weak and frail, but beautiful and firm."

They locked eyes, and her eyes swam with tears.

_But for now, it's okay._

* * *

interesting things: _If you read the tiny lines in italics that started on October 19th, 2nd Year, you can see that there is a tiny message. Hope you enjoyed this!_

_- _thanks to iDon'tCare for pointing out a mistake I missed. :)


	9. goodnight

nine: goodnight

* * *

.

_Her eyes once sparkled like moonlight._

_._

* * *

**10. **They are the most well-known, the cutest and happiest in the town, young, naive and gullible. They know nothing, people often whisper as they float past the admiring crowds, all that's in their head is their young love and affection for each other.

But, they continue to whisper, eyes trained on the two, perhaps it's better this way, isn't it?

**09. **It falls apart slowly.

Their relationship.

The gap between them spreads wider, and unknown to them, they drift apart. She doesn't stick around with him anymore, he doesn't hug her that much anymore.

And they don't even notice the difference.

**08. **It is their fifth-year anniversary. Their friends throw a party for them, and ask them when are they marrying, but they just reply that they didn't know.

But secretly inside, they feel immensely uncomfortable, and didn't approach the other for the whole party.

No one even notices.

**07. **As she descends the stairs, he greets her a good morning. In a dead voice, she replies back with a fake, forced smile. His smile was equally stiff, and he stands up, going to the kitchen under the pretext that he is to prepare breakfast.

She watches him go into the other room, and although they were in the same house, he felt so distant to her.

**06. **They sleep on the same bed as always, but they turn away from each other, and on tranquil nights when she couldn't sleep, she would turn and stare at his back sadly, uncontrolled tears rolling from her eyes and soaking the pillow so wet it was as though she drenched it in a bucketful of water.

It was sad, she thought, how he turned from someone she knows into someone she once knew.

She doesn't realise that he thinks the same thing, and although he looks as though sleeping, he was just listening silently to her sobbing, and it pained him.

But none of them voiced it out aloud.

**05. **That day, she tells him. She says that perhaps they didn't like each other that much anymore, and their relationship was merely puppy love. He cups her face in his hands, and he says _don't_, _don't do this._

She answers nothing, instead leaning forward and pressing her soft lips on his. They stay like that, and then she pulls herself away, rubbing her arm guiltily.

"I'm tired," is all she says, voice so quiet that it breaks his heart, a shadow casting over her face and shielding the emerald jewels. "And I'm done."

Then she turns, walking away from him, further and further, and no matter how much he wanted to reach out and apologise, to just get back to her ...

... he couldn't bring himself to do it anymore. Instead, he whispers under his breath, wisps blowing out from his lips:

"Goodnight."

**04. **People slowly notice how they didn't stick together, how her eyes that once sparkled like moonlight lost their shine, and how he looks more tired than he usually was.

She often cries alone in her room, the scars of the past haunting her. Then, when she couldn't take it anymore, she moved out, returning to her mother's side and discarding every single memory she had of him.

**03. **Her fingers are light, nimble on the piano keys, playing out a sweetly sad melody. When she is done she sits next to her mother who is knitting for her.

"So you aren't dating him anymore?" Her mother asks quietly, careful not to open any wounds. She shakes her head, lifting it and watching the fan turn on the celling hypnotizingly.

"But it's better like that, isn't it?" She says in a silent, reserved voice, rubbing her arm unconsciously. "You always said that we annoyed you a lot. And I feel free - more free than I ever felt before. Like I have wings."

Her mother shakes her head disapprovingly, setting her knitting needles down and smoothing out the finished cerulean jumper on her lap. "No, I don't think so - it was very nice watching you two take naps together back in the days."

She looks at her mother curiously. "Why?"

"You both looked so peaceful and happy together, as though you were always sharing the same dream."

Her mother then placed the cerulean - the colour of his eyes - jumper on her lap and patted her folded hands softly, walking away and leaving her to wander.

**02. **She scoops the soft white rice into two bowls while her mother made the table outside. The doorbell rings at that moment and her mother went to answer it. She hears a few happy and light chatters, then the slightly sad voice of her mother, finally the sound of the door closing.

Her mother appears in the kitchen, behind her, and hands her a beautiful snow-white envelope with pretty patterns, saying it was for her. She takes it carefully, and notices her name on the front, written in careful handwriting - she immediately recognised it as his.

She decides to open it after eating her dinner, so she places it on a table and after a quiet meal with her mother, she retires to her room to open the letter. It is indeed from him, but the contents both surprised and saddened her. It was a wedding invitation - a wedding in which she isn't the bride.

She reads the invitation, sadness flowing back to her, and as time ticks by, she sits on the edge of her bed, hands gripping the invitation card tightly.

Her mother then knocks lightly on her bedroom door, and she wipes away the tears from her face - she never noticed that she was crying - calling out that she was changing and perhaps her mother could shout out what she wanted to tell her.

In a soft, comforting voice, her mother whispers over the wooden door, "I'm going. Are you?"

At her mother's words, she looked down at the lower corner of the card, where the words 'I can/cannot go to this wedding.' stared up at her. She reached out for a pen, then circled 'cannot' and crossed out 'can', sighing sadly.

"No, mother," she whispers quietly, sliding the envelope and the card under the gap of her door. Her mother says nothing, except for something about leaving her alone for the rest of the night. The floorboards creaks slightly, and her mother goes away from her door.

She throws herself down on the bed, curling up like a cat on the mattress, then throws the covers over her head. She stays like that, unmoving, and as she imagined him with another girl, she breaks down.

Because she still hasn't let go of him, yet.

**01. **She tells her mother that she is a coward for moping over the past, and that she isn't brave enough to move on just like he did. Her mother shakes her head again, collecting her fragile body softly, and whispers while stroking her hair that it is actually okay to be like that.

Because, her mother tells her, not everyone is strong.

She cries.

**00. **The bride is beautiful. She silently stands at the doors, watching as the smiling girl in a veil walked up the aisle, and as he forced himself to smile at the girl.

The ritual was agonising to watch, and as they changed rings he caught sight of her and his ring dropped as he extended a hand to her blindly. Everyone looks behind and looks surprised to see her standing there, weeping. Her mother and the groom made to walk over to her side, but she raises a hand, smiling, and wipes away her tears.

Smiling at him, she waves a final farewell, and turns away, preparing to walk away from him.

But then she feels his gloved hand on her shoulder, and his low, smoky voice whispering,

"Wait."


	10. lives

ten: lives

* * *

_._

_Nine lives, _

_nine stories, _

_t__wo hearts, _

_one love._

.

* * *

_first life; what am I?_

* * *

**one.**

_F_irst life; enemies.

It's the war and chaos is everywhere. But from where they are standing, it's oddly silent. Where had all her comrades went, she wonders vaguely.

They're enemies on the battlefield and unfortunately she's caught him by gunpoint. Unexpectedly, he neither cowers with fear nor raises his hands in surrender, but stands on his ground, glumly staring at her and her gun. No words are exchanged, but she knows that he's daring her to shoot him.

That's one of the reasons why she doesn't do that.

She can't bring herself to pull the trigger, she just _can't_. Her mind is screaming at her to do it, but she shakes her head and slowly, _somehow_, she abandoned all the rules that were given and lowers her gun.

He looks like he's about to kiss her there and then — it's perfectly fine with her if he did that, perhaps she would even kiss him back — but he inclines his head in a slight _thank you _and turns on his heel, so that she can't see her face anymore.

Then he's gone.

(After that day, she would lie in bed, awake, thinking of the man she didn't shoot, the man who acted like a true soldier, the man she actually fell for. Ironically.)

* * *

**two.**

_S_econd life; partners.

Stupid science project! It's not fun at all, she thinks grumpily, her cheek squashed against her palm. Why can't people just do these kind of project things _alone_? Why do we even need partners? And partners of the opposite gender, mind you.

But _no_, their teacher goes on with all that 'bonding and getting new friends' and 'get to know one another more' rubbish. Don't they ever consider what two teenagers of the opposite gender would do when they're alone and in the same room? With a bed?

She applauds the teacher's trust in them. Surprisingly they are permitted to do group projects like this. She wouldn't be surprised if someone ends up pregnant, even if the person in question is a boy. No, she will not be.

"Are you okay?" His voice rings out. It's like a melody, charming and surprisingly soothing; her ill temper ebbs away as she tilts her head up to meet his gaze.

"Yes," she says, face heating up. "Yes, thank you."

"Need help over there? You looked like you were about to kill someone just now," he chuckles, a low and husky sound, with his hand offered. She stares at it enquiringly for three seconds. Then it clicks.

"Oh, uh, I was just feeling a little ... eh, grumpy. I'm fine now, thank you very much." She splutters, taking his hand and hoisting herself up from the chair. He laughs at her words.

"So if you're grumpy you might kill someone?" He asks, clearly amused. She scoffs, face still pinking.

"I might kill you, mind," she huffs out with a cross of her arms, turning away from him. He continues to laugh and her flush deepens.

She swears in her mind.

She doesn't want to, nor will she ever, fall in love with her science partner. No.

(But with looks and a personality like his it was very hard not to, she mused.)

* * *

**three.**

_T_hird life; designer and muse.

"Can you _please _sit still, Miku? I'm trying to draw." He says crossly, poking his head out from the canvas. "It's very hard to, with your fidgeting."

"Why did I even end up with this job anyway?" She moans, tugging at her skirt with discomfort. "It's terrible! You know I'm not a reserved person, I'm more, well, _restless._"

"Restless doesn't even sum it all up," he grunts, disappearing once more behind the easel. "Please cooperate!" His voice calls out.

She groans, folding her hands on her lap and trying desperately to sit still. But, oh, seriously, it's very hard to sit still when there's someone staring at you. And drawing you.

And it's harder if that person is good looking.

"Can you just please —" He says for the fifth time, throwing his hands up in the air. "Really now!"

"It's not my fault!" She wails. "It's yours!"

He glares momentarily at her, then, as if realising that arguing with her wasn't worth the trouble, he sighs and dips his paintbrush into the palette again. "Miku, please."

For a couple of minutes she _does _manages to stay there, unmoving — not to mention the occasional twitching when he disappears behind the easel and canvas again — but he emerges, his hair messed up but still looking good anyways, and it's then when she bursts out what she's been complaining in her head for so long._  
_

"Oh, dang it, why do you have to be so hot?" She grumbles, throwing her face into her hands.

Silence.

Comprehension dawns on both of them and she blushes like a cherry while he smirks knowingly, making his way across the small room to her side, where she's trying to disappear behind her hands.

"Say what?" He asks, prising her hands away from her face. "Can you repeat that?"

"No —" she starts to say, but his mouth is already covering hers and her sentence trails away into nothing.

There is no words to describe her feelings; it was just a jumbled mess of giddiness, embarrassment and confusion at the situation.

But she's happy. They both are.

(And a few years later, when her child asks her how mamma fell in love papa, she would reply with a smile: "Well, mamma was fidgety and she moved a lot, so papa put a stop to that.)

* * *

**four.**

_F_ourth life, workers.

"Ehm, Hatsune, you need help with that?" He offers tentatively, standing a few steps away from her and the printer.

"No," she says stubbornly. "Thank you."

"But Hatsune," he continues. _  
_

"Nope." She's still pressing the _print _button on her computer like an idiot.

"But Hatsune —"

"I can manage," She jams the button so hardly that it's bound to break one day.

"But Hatsu—"

"No."

"But —"

"Noes."

"Bu—"

"Thank you, Kagamine, but I'm perfectly —" she slams on the button, "fine!"

"Hatsune, the printer's jamming," he says swiftly before she could interrupt him again. "You have to just —" He pulls out a paper that was stuck and tossed it into a dustbin with perfect aim, "there." Immediately the printer spits out the papers. "Look, you wasted a lot of ink because you were pressing on the button too much."

She pouts at the printer, pride wounded. "Sorry," she says in a low voice.

He pats her head consolingly. "Nah, it's okay, I faced this kind of problem before. It hurt my ego badly."

She laughs and he grins. "Do you want a kiss to make you feel better?" He asks, tapping her forehead.

She's horrified.

(On sunny days they would recall that day and he'd laugh at her all the time.)

* * *

**five.**

_F_ifth life, classmates.

"Um, Hatsune?"

She flinches so hardly that she topples off her chair, much to her friends' delight. She turns slowly to the source of the voice, clammy hands gripping her shirt tightly. She hitches a painful grin on her face and one of her friends giggles behind her.

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh —" He looks so pitifully horrified. "Can you give me a tour of this school someday?" He requests shyly. "Because it's so big and," he looks around the classroom, "well, I got lost a few times already and I don't want it to happen again."

Why her, though?

"Sure," she says easily, giving him a thumbs-up. "Whenever you like."

"How about now?"

"No," she says.

"Don't be mean."

"Well, I'm _sorry_."

"Just go with him already!" Her friends squeal, shoving her towards the boy and then ...

... they kissed?

She swore to the heavens.

(Since he's always the timid one, she likes to remind him of that incident and watch — with cruel glee — him blush fiercely and glance away.)

* * *

**six.**

_S_ixth life; roommates.

"Right."

She's crossing her arms and glaring at her new roommate.

"I have _no _idea why you're a boy, but since you are, I just want you to stay away when I'm showering and please, _please_, don't do anything to me when I'm sleeping." He nods curtly. "Thank you."

They bow respectfully to each other like they're in a karate match, then she picks up her clothes and marches away to the toilet, closing the door behind her.

"Uhh, miss roommate?" He calls out. "Guuh?"

"What is it?" She yells.

"You dropped your underwear!" He replies. "On my bed!" He adds as a clarification.

She opens the door and throws a bottle of shampoo at him with such force that he passes out on the floor.

(It was probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to her in her whole life.)

* * *

**seventh. **

_S_eventh life; childhood darlings.

Lenka runs across the grassy field like the wind. She looks behind her back at a boy who's half a head taller than her and grins cheekily. "Hurry up, slowpoke!"

"My name's Mikuo, not slowpoke!" Mikuo shrieks, nearly hauling the picnic basket at her.

"No, Mikuo!" It's her turn to scream shrilly. "_The food_! Oh my gods and goddesses, we _don't _throw food!"

"Don't scold me like I'm a two-year-old," Mikuo grumbles. Lenka pokes a tongue out, arms wrapping the basket protectively.

"You act like one," she says haughtily.

"Like you're one to talk," he grumbles.

The pair glare at each other. Electricity crackles in the air between them. Then Lenka reaches out and pokes his sides.

"Gah, Lenka!" Mikuo yells, trying to shove the blond beauty off him. "Get orf! It — tickles!" A waterfall of giggles burst out from his mouth and they tumble down the hill together, her hands still on his sides and his flailing around, trying to regain balance and push her away at the same time.

When the tumble to a stop, he's on top of her, breath a series of pants and face red from laughing. Lenka laughs awkwardly.

"Not a position I want to be in?" She offers.

"You left the sandwich basket on the top of the hill, now we need to get it back again," he breathes, teal hair sticking to his face. Lenka pushes the strands away.

They stare at each other quietly.

Lenka digs her fingers into his ribs and Mikuo's loud laughter fills the air again.

(It's not his fault that she knows he's ticklish, he complains over and over again.)

* * *

**eight.**

_E_ight life; nemeses.

For the _millionth _time, she screams: "I hate you!"

"Why do you hate me so much anyway?" He howls sorrowfully. "What in the world did I do?"

She shrugs, face still dark. "Well, you basically suck and stuff, you hang out with girls too much, you make me completely _smitten _with —" She catches her tongue in time, but from the look on his face, he understood.

"Me?" He asks hopefully.

With a particularly loud yell, her hand lands on his cheek with a painful slapping sound.

(He's a jerk, she repeats to herself over and over again.)

* * *

**nine.**

_N_inth life; remember.

The summer festival is nice and entertaining, but without friends it can be very boring. Len remembers to put an emphasis on _boring_.

He's very pitiful, he's sure, wandering around aimlessly while his sister flounced away with her friends in search for 'new hot boyfriends', as she had told him.

Len decides that he'll just leave his sister and go home because there's nothing to do there and she's definitely not going home so early. So he picks himself up from a bench and trudges slowly to the entrance, hands in his pockets.

A loud, clear voice calls out to him.

"Excuse me, please, sir!"

Len turns; it's a girl in a fortune-telling stand — it's a popular one, he's seen it flooded with customers for two-hours straight — and she's waving him over. She's very pretty, with long teal hair cascading down her shoulders to her waist and a pair of gleaming eyes that seemed to glow like a cat's in the darkness. He ponders, wondering whether or not he should go over to her store and ignore her; he didn't believe in superstitions such as fortune telling that much. But eventually he relents and obliges to her wish, striding over to her stall.

The girl looks delighted when he takes a seat. She places her chin on her arms that were folded on the table, a small smile on her lips. "What kind of fortune-telling do you want me to do?"

Len thinks for a bit but nothing comes to him so he shrugs. "Well, I dunno, anything."

"Is a story good for you?"

He's rather taken aback by the queer question. "Uh, sure?"

The girl's smile widens a little bit and she straightens up, clearing her throat. "Okay, so, there's a boy and a girl; they've reincarnated for nine times. Miraculously, they've been couples for eight times, meaning that they've fallen for each other for eight times out of nine lives.

"The first life is where they both are soldiers; in the second they're science partners and she tries her best not to fall for him; for their third life he's a clothes designer and she's his muse; in their fourth story they're working in a same office and a jamming printer fates their meeting; fifth life: they're classmates; sixth, roommates of the opposite gender, strangely enough; the boy became a girl named Lenka and the girl becomes Mikuo, a boy, in their seventh life, in which they're childhood friends; and in the eight, they're supposed to hate each other as nemeses, but they didn't."

Len watched the girl with fascination. "Wow ..." He gasps. "How about the ninth life?"

"This year's their ninth life, coincidentally." The girl says, closing her eyes serenely.

"Who's the boy?" Len asks curiously.

"You," the girl chirps calmly, peeling her eyes open slowly. "You're the boy."

Len gapes. "Then ... who's the girl?"

The fortune-teller smiles brightly. "Recall, remember, Len," she says.

Then it all comes back to him in a rush — he's staring at a gun nozzle; a girl's laughing brightly at him in the sunlight; his model's shifting around; a female worker's pressing a computer button with a tremulous force; he's being shown around by a beautiful student; his roommate's setting strict rules for him; he's — or _she's — _digging a finger into a boy's ribs; there's his enemy again, spitting hisses of hate to him — and the fortune-teller's pretty face floats back into view.

"M-Miku?" He croaks out. She laughs.

* * *

Later that day, when his sister inquired how and _why _he had got a girlfriend in mere hours, he tells her a story about a couple with nine lives.

And in later years, she would tell their beautiful daughter — he likes to gush about how she is a perfect little angel — about the story, and it is passed on.

.

.

.

And that's the story of their ninth life.

They're still waiting for the tenth.


End file.
